Twenty Days With Lestrade
by Jinx2016
Summary: After a fire damages 221B John and Sherlock find themselves living with Lestrade in his flat. rated T: since i don't understand the ratings. the sequel- Sherlock and Company is now up!
1. Prologue

John and Sherlock watched the flames dance around their beloved flat. It wasn't burning because of one of Sherlock's crazy experiments or because of some evil villain. No, this time it was natural. One of Mrs. Hudson's scented candles had fell and touched the blinds of the windows. Sherlock and John had been asleep after a horribly long week of chasing after bombers and only noticed that there was a fire when Mrs. Hudson screamed. Now here they are, homeless. John refused to ask his sister if he could stay with her, especially when she started drinking again. Sherlock of course would rather be homeless then stay with his brother Mycroft. All in all they were without a home and Lestrade felt sorry for them. It's not like he had to worry about his wife's reaction to him bring home two men, she didn't live with him anymore after all. How hard could it be to have the two in his flat? Lestrade nodded to himself, making up his mind. He strolled over to the two homeless men, who were yelling at the police men to be careful with their things. The fire looked worse than what it actually was, but it didn't look like it could be properly lived in for a while.

"How are you two doing?" Lestrade bit his tongue, guessing that was a stupid question. They had just lost Baker Street for god's sake! The Blogger Detectives' headquarters!

"Fine," Sherlock grumbled, grabbing his violin from a fireman walking past. The stings were blackened but the instrument seemed to be untouched by the flames.

"Yeah, fine, except for the part where we are minus one home," John grumbled, dusting the soot of his jumper. Lestrade took that as his cue to speak.

"You could stay at my flat until 221 is fixed up," Lestrade offered. Sherlock and John stared at the DI, their faces blank of emotion. He didn't think it was _that_ bad of an idea.

"That's kind of you, Greg, but we don't want to be a burden-"

"Oh shut up, John! The man clearly wants to help, why should we deprive him of that honor?" Sherlock said, wrapping an arm around Lestrade's shoulders.

"Sherlock, what-" Greg watched as John froze as he noticed something from the corner of his eye. "You know what? Never mind. Looks like you've got some new flat mates," John said, pushing Lestrade and Sherlock away from the burning building. Lestrade turned his head, searching for what had changed their minds when he saw a black car pulling up to the flat. The British Government must not be a good host.

* * *

**short stories of Sherlock and John living with Lestrade in his flat after the horrible accident at 221B. there will be around twenty stories so i'm open for opinions for ideas. if you have an idea let me know and i'll jot it down for a chapter. Thanks!**


	2. Breakfast

"John!" Sherlock shouted urgently from the door of Lestrade's spare bedroom. John jumped, falling from the bed with fright. John groaned as he lied on the grey carpet floor and glared at Sherlock, the best alarm clock he ever owned.

"Sherlock, it is four in the morning, what the hell are you doing?!" John hissed, slowly rising from his crumpled spot on the floor. Sherlock rolled his eyes at John dramatically, which only made John more ornery.

"It's perfectly obvious isn't it?" Sherlock sighed, giving John the face. Oh, the face! The face that has been haunting John's dreams since he first met the consulting detective. It was a smug little flame in Sherlock's eyes that said, (more like cackled evilly) "we both know what's going on here." Oh how he wished he could slap it off, but that most likely will cause him more trouble from his flat mate then needed. Ignoring the hideous look from Sherlock, John scanned every inch of consultant. When one lives with Sherlock Holmes you learn a few deductive skills yourself. His eyes found traces of white powder on Sherlock's purple sleeved shirt and syrup slopped on his pants leg. John frowned. Either Sherlock was conducting some strange experiment on waffles or he was baking.

"Um…why are you baking?" John asked, guessing that experimenting on waffles would not be helpful for any cases. Sherlock, once again giving John _the look_ pointed a finger to the bedroom across John's.

"Shouldn't we show Lestrade a little appreciation for taking us under his wing?" Sherlock asked. John peaked out the doorway to Lestrade's room and then smirked over to his friend.

"Since when did you start caring?" John asked, raising an eyebrow. Sherlock frowned at the word and cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable.

"I…well…if it wasn't for him we'd be staying with my brother of all people so it just seems proper-"

"Right then, come on," John shouted, pushing Sherlock from the bedroom to the kitchen

* * *

"Dear god! Are you positive you haven't been experimenting instead of cooking?!" John gasped as they came to the kitchen. Pancake mix was dripping out from the toaster, the floor had become a pool of orange juice, and buttered toast was stuck on the kitchen window. John wondered how one man could destroy a kitchen in one night, but then again it was Sherlock Holmes, who had attempted on making such a simple thing. Sherlock snorted and approached a fridge, pulling out a package of long slender cuts of bacon. Sherlock frowned at the package like it was diseased. "It's called bacon, it's from pigs," John sighed sarcastically, snatching the bacon from Sherlock's fingers.

"I know that, but why is it eaten for breakfast? It is meat and meat is usually consumed for lunch or dinner. Why is breakfast an exception?" John stared at Sherlock dumfounded. This was going to be a very, _very_ long morning. John quickly brought out a pan and tossed the bacon into it. The delicate strips sizzled as he poked them with a fork.

"Sherlock, why don't you stir up some muffin mix since I can't expect you to watch the bacon," John shouted over his shoulder to where Sherlock leaned against the fridge. The detective grumbled under his breath and reluctantly went to the cupboards. He yanked out a small box of muffin mix, staring at it cautiously, like it might explode. John glanced at him. "Oh, please tell me you don't have something against muffins too," John grumbled. Sherlock shook his head, guessing that John wouldn't want to hear the traumatizing story about the chocolate chip muffins Mycroft had made him on his birthday when they were just boys. Sherlock shivered at the frightening memory. Never in his life had he seen any kind of food move like that before. He remembered how he had asked Mycroft if he had accidently taken one of his experiments from the cabinets instead of the actual mix. Now he had to attempt to create the same (perhaps less mobile) delicacy Mycroft had tried so hard to conquer all those years ago. Well, time to get cracking!

Sherlock grabbed a handful of eggs from the carton in the fridge and carefully cracked them into a bowl that contained the mix and some milk. After stirring them together as perfectly as possible, Sherlock stared at his fine work. Something was missing. He turned his back from the bowl to search the fridge, not noticing that the spoon had sunken into the mix, never to be seen again. Sherlock returned with a carton of blueberries and added them to the mixture. Carefully, he poured the mixture into the pan, not even noticing the spoon sliding in with it. He then strolled over to John, who was beginning to plate the crisp bacon.

"Done," Sherlock stated, handing John the tray. John stared wide eyed at Sherlock's handy work. The mix had turned out better than what he had figured. He thought that Sherlock might have added fingers or some other strange ingredient to it. Blueberries were the complete opposite. John took the tray from Sherlock, looking at it more carefully for any type of poison. Once he was satisfied with Sherlock's work he turned back to the oven, popping them in. Now they wait. Sherlock smirked at John and turned to clean up the mess he had made while mixing. Sherlock's body stiffened and his smile fell once he scanned the table, which John noticed instantly.

"Sherlock?" Sherlock turned and stared wide eyed at the oven.

"Duck!" he shouted, grabbing John by the arm and pulling him behind the table as the oven burst into flames.

* * *

Lestrade shot from his bed in a cold sweat, looking this way and that. His alarm blazed at him that it was now seven and time to get up. He lowered his head in his hands breathing deeply. It was only a nightmare. Sherlock Holmes and John Watson did not just blow his kitchen up with spoons and muffins. He rubbed his eyes, he's only lived with them for a night and he's already having nightmares. How bad is that?! Greg was about to lay back into his puffy pillows when a knock at the door caught his attention. Sherlock and John stood in the doorway, smiling.

"Morning, Lestrade," they said together, smiling like crazy. John stared at them for a second, wondering what this was all about, but of course Sherlock answered it before he could ask.

"We have a small surprise for you," Sherlock informed him, walking out of the doorway toward the kitchen. Lestrade stared at John with raised eyebrows. John chuckled to himself and waved his hand at Lestrade to fallow. Quickly, Lestrade jumped off his bed and fallowed the two men down to the kitchen.

* * *

Lestrade was relieved to find that the oven, the cupboards, and frankly everything else that had been destroyed in his dream perfectly in one piece. It looked like it had even been cleaned in fact. The table was cluttered with freshly baked muffins, juice, bacon, eggs, pancakes, and thousands of other goodies that made his mouth water.

"Just wanted to say thank you for taking us in," John informed Lestrade. Greg smiled at the two of them. Maybe this wasn't going to be as bad as he thought.

"Let's eat," he yelped, taking a bite of a blueberry muffin. John and Lestrade each took a seat while Sherlock strolled over to the kitchen window, peering outside at the rose bushes. Hidden deeply in the very middle of red blossoms sat a half blown up oven and a tray of muffins with fragments of the left over shards of the short lived spoon.

* * *

**A big thank you to Lisek for the many ideas. without you this story never would have been written. i'll try to get another up soon, but i've been busy lately with the holidays and all that. Thank you all for reading!**


	3. Holding Up the Ship

Lestrade sat on his couch, watching old crime shows with Sherlock Holmes. Actually it was pretty much just him watching them. Sherlock was too busy insulting them to understand what was going on. All seemed to going well when suddenly, a scream came from the spare bedroom. Lestrade shot to his feet, staring at the closed door. Sherlock didn't even flinch. His eyes were stuck on the screen of the television. The scream echoed from the room again and this time Lestrade knew he had to go in and help poor John. Sherlock stopped him, grabbing his wrist.

"Nightmare, just leave him alone," Sherlock sighed, keeping his eyes on the screen. Lestrade frowned at the detective, flinching as another scream blasted even louder from the bedroom. It sounded a lot worse than just any nightmare.

"But, you're his friend, Sherlock! Shouldn't you try to calm him down or something?" Greg barked. Sherlock, finally turning away from the television and stared at the DI. A smile grew over Sherlock's pale face and laughter left his mouth. Lestrade watched as the detective fell from the couch, clutching his sides as the muscles strained from laughing so hard. Tears were even starting to run from his face! TEARS! "I don't see what's so funny," Lestrade grumbled, crossing his arms like an irritated teenager.

"There is no way I am risking my life just to end some nightmare that will end in a matter of hours," Sherlock sighed, gasping for air as the laughter began to quite. Lestrade frowned at the consultant with raised eye brows.

"Well, if you're not doing it then I will," Greg stated, marching over to the door. Something that looked almost like dread collapsed over Sherlock's face and the detective quickly plunged behind the couch, covering his head. Lestrade smirked at the dramatic seen. Sherlock should have been in theater instead. The man is more dramatic than any actor Lestrade has ever seen. What could be so bad about waking John from a nightmare? Slowly, Lestrade turned the door knob, glancing back at the cowering detective before walking into the room.

* * *

Sheets were sprawled over the floor, and a whimpering John Watson lied shriveled in a ball at the edge of the bed. Lestrade could tell John was still asleep from the glassy eyes and the way he stared out into nowhere. Carefully, Lestrade reached a hand out to the doctor to shake him awake when a gunshot blasted past his ear. Lestrade fell to the floor, unharmed but horrified. He looked up to see John still asleep, but with a gun tight in his hands. John raised the gun, pointing it back at Lestrade. Lestrade's eyes widened in terror at the sight. This had to be the worst type of sleep walking he has ever seen! Greg shook himself, free from his surprise and bolted from the room, John had just missed him. Sherlock waved at Lestrade to hide with him behind the couch. Greg didn't even hesitate as he flung himself at Sherlock.

"Tried to warn you," Sherlock mumbled peeking out from behind the couch, to check if John was coming. Lestrade nodded, breathing deeply to get his heart beating normally again.

"I take it this has happened to you before?" Lestrade panted, peeking out from the couch with Sherlock. Sherlock nodded and yanked the coffee table over to cover them from all sides.

"Pushed me down the stairs a year ago when we were on the stolen ring case," Sherlock admitted. Lestrade stared at him wide eyed. That probably explained why Sherlock had moved around like a stiff board the whole case.

"How did you get out alive?" Lestrade asked. Sherlock snapped off the leg of one of Lestrade's best chairs and tossed it at him. This earned him a glare from the inspector.

"By holding up the ship," Sherlock added simply. Lestrade took the leg tightly in his hand and leaned his back against the couch as Sherlock kept watch for their dreaming friend. This was going to be a long night.

They had managed to dodge every shot John shot at them that night. After about six hours John had finally collapsed and broke from his nightmare into a lovely dream. Sherlock and Lestrade were weary on leaving the safety of their fort, so the two of them slowly drifted away against the couch.

* * *

"What are you two doing?" John asked, peaking at them from the opposite side of the couch. Sherlock and Lestrade looked up at the doctor, who seemed to be wide awake now. The two hesitated, wondering if they should tell him the truth.

"Pirates," Sherlock said simply. Lestrade glared at him. Pirates?! Was that the best the great Sherlock Holmes could come up with?! Seriously?! John gave Lestrade a questioning look. Lestrade only smiled, squinting his eye like a pirate and stated in his best pirate voice,

"Arg…Captain Holmes and I were just holding up da ship."

* * *

**I was a little blank on this one. I wanted to do something with nightmares and I also wanted some pirate talk so I combined the two. The ring case is just something I made up and if you are confused by what Lestrade and Sherlock mean by holding up the ship it is from the saying Holding up the fort. I just switched the words around a bit to fit with the pirate stuff. Hope you all enjoyed it!**


	4. Kitchen or Lab?

John had warned him about this the very first day they moved in. He had told Lestrade to seal the kitchen, the fridge, anything he didn't want body parts floating around in, but did he listen? No. Now he is staring into his fridge, wide eyed. A severed head is staring at him with big brown dead eyes and lab equipment is completely covering the kitchen.

"Stare at it any longer and it will start talking," called a low voice from behind. Lestrade turned momentarily from the head to the dark coated figure standing in the kitchen doorway. Sherlock smirked at Lestrade and seated himself at the cluttered table, bringing out a petri dish full of fuzzy green substances. Lestrade stared at Sherlock, fuming. This arrogant detective had just turned his kitchen into a science lab! What's next? The kitchen's a mess. Oh god, what did he do to the bathroom?! Lestrade bolted toward the bathroom, but Sherlock stopped him. "Don't worry, I haven't gotten to the bathroom…yet," Sherlock stated, putting in a different slide for his microscope.

"Sherlock, did you have to bring the entire bloody morgue to my flat?" Lestrade growled through his teeth. He had expected the worst when inviting Sherlock and John to live with him, but never before had he thought that Sherlock would try to turn his flat into 221B. Sherlock shrugged, taking a look at another sample of fuzz.

"Never know when it could be used for a case," Sherlock stated. Lestrade tapped his foot impatiently. What was he going to do about this? He couldn't put Sherlock in a time out or ground him like he would to a child…even though he is extremely tempted. Maybe if he threatened to call Mycroft Sherlock would get rid of all this junk. Then again, Sherlock might add even more junk just to irritate his older brother. There had to be some way of getting Sherlock to stop turning his home into one big laboratory.

"I'm back!" John shouted as he opened the door to Lestrade's flat. An evil smile curled over Lestrade's face. If anyone could get his kitchen back in order it was John Watson! Lestrade stepped momentarily from the kitchen and to the doorway where John was struggling with piles of grocery bags. John thanked Greg with a smile as he took two of the bags from the doctor. Lestrade didn't smile though; instead he gave John a worried look, which somehow John understood right away.

"He's turned the house into a lab?" John asked him. Lestrade nodded, feeling a headache coming on.

"How'd you guess?" Lestrade sighed, juggling with his very heavy bags. Jeeze, what did John buy? Rocks?

"Well, for one it is quieter than usual in here and you have a jarred body parts by the TV," John stated, pointing at the living room. Lestrade twirled around and felt his stomach knot up. There on top of his ten inch wide screen sat a jar filled with floating ears. Lestrade bent over, feeling sick. Where the hell did Sherlock even get-  
No, he did not want to know. It would probably ruin his health even more than it already was from living with Sherlock. John patted his back with his free hand.

"Don't worry, you get used to it," John sighed. Lestrade winced. Used to it?! How was he going to get used to finding body parts in fruit bowls, or test tubes with his mugs?! How could john say that he'd get used to it?! That was even more impossible then Sherlock's deductions. Lestrade let out a shaky breath and looked at the doctor, who was staring at him with concern.

"Can't you….do something about this?" Lestrade asked, waving a hand at the mess he would now have to call home. John paled, looking around the flat.

"Maybe," John sighed, a light flickering in his eyes. A smiled curled over his face as he took the groceries into the kitchen. Lestrade fallowed close behind with his bags of food, trying to hold down his lunch as the smell of chemicals hit his nose. John didn't seem taken aback by the overpowering odor. Sherlock glanced up at them as they came in, but then went back to his experiment when he noticed they were only brining food. John set the food in the spaces that still did not hold any experiments or body parts. Once they had everything in its places John put his plan into play.

"Well, it's a shame that you haven't been feeling well lately, Greg," John sighed glancing at Sherlock for any reaction. Lestrade frowned at John. What did he mean? He wasn't sick. John nudged at him with his shoulder to get him to play along.

"Uh…yeah, I guess I should have checked my mug before putting tea in it," Lestrade croaked, holding his stomach. It wasn't too hard to fake being ill. The stench of everything was enough to make a science professor sick. Sherlock still didn't pay them any mind. he probably wasn't even listening. John crossed his arms.

"Looks like we won't be having any cases then-"

"What, why?" Sherlock asked, finally looking at the two of them. John winked at Lestrade and smirked. So far so good.

"Your little science lab here mad him sick so he can't work and if Greg can't work then you won't have any cases," John sighed. Sherlock frowned.

"I could still get my usual clients," Sherlock said, looking back at the microscope. John shrugged.

"True, but lately we haven't had anything." Sherlock frowned, looking at the two of them one at a time.

"It doesn't look like I'm going to get any better either," Lestrade said, pointing at the mess that littered his kitchen. Sherlock fallowed Lestrade's motions and stared at the demolished flat. Sherlock suddenly froze, glancing at the two of his friends more closely. Lestrade stiffened. Was it going to work?

"Nice try," Sherlock smirked going back to his experiment. Lestrade's shoulders slouched. That hadn't worked as planned. Looks like there stuck with a lab for a kitchen.

* * *

**I had to get the kitchen, severed head, and experiments in sooner or later so here it is! I'm planning on doing something with Sherlock's skull next. I don't know what I'm going to do for that one yet, but I'll think of something. ENJOY!**


	5. Talking to a skull

Lestrade poked at the object that sat on Greg's fish tank. He shouldn't be too disturbed by it. This is way better than any severed head anyway. Greg stared at the hallow eyes that seemed to fallow him.

"So what do you call this? Yorik?" Lestrade teased John, who was typing up a new entry on his blog. John had decided to make an entry of all the things that happened during their stay at Greg's and so far they have been a huge hit. People really like the one where he had 'Dreamed' John and Sherlock had blown up the kitchen. He never understood why, but that's humans for you. They like anything that makes them laugh.

"Oh, Sherlock calls him Billy," John said, not glancing up from his computer. Lestrade wrinkled his nose.

"Why does he have a scull?" Greg asked, poking Billy in the jaw. John let out a long sigh and set his computer to the side.

"He needs someone to talk to when no one's around," John answered simply. Lestrade raised an eyebrow, lifting the scull from its place on the tank.

"To listen or not to listen, that is the question?" Lestrade rehearsed, remembering small fragments from Hamlet. This earned him a laugh from John. Finally Lestrade brought his attention back to the scull. "Does it talk back? Is that why he talks to it more than he does with the living?" Lestrade asked, holding the skull eye level. John opened his mouth to answer, but Billy managed to do it first.

"To be or not to be! That is the correct line from Hamlet!" Billy barked, "And yes, I can talk! Thank you very much, inspector!" Lestrade jumped back, dropping the scull to the floor in surprise. "Ouch!" Billy wailed as he hit the floor.

"Please tell me you heard that too?" Lestrade gasped, staring at the scull as it mumbled to itself how rude the Yarders were and everything. John walked over to the skull, holding it up to his face.

"Ah, John Watson, you took my job! That blasted detective spoke to me first mind you," Billy hissed. John stared at the scull, clearly not noticing that the scull had just insulted him.

"No, sorry did I miss something?" John asked, setting the scull back on the tank.

"Yes, John, you never simply observe!" the skull chattered. Again John didn't notice. Lestrade shook his head, realizing that John must not be able to hear Billy. John stared at Lestrade for a while and then took his computer into the other room. Lestrade took that as his chance.

"Are you actually talking?" Lestrade gasped, staring at the skull.

"Of course I am, you blubbering idiot!" Lestrade frowned at the skull. Sherlock must not have taught this thing manners. On the other hand, maybe he did, but did it _his_ way instead.

"Ok…um…I'm going to skip the whole why am I hearing you talk question because living with Sherlock Holmes has probably driven me mad," Lestrade sighed. The skull seemed to somehow nod in agreement, which didn't seem possible until Lestrade saw it right in front of his own eyes. "So…um…where did Sherlock get you from? Lestrade finally asked.

"Oh, well, I'm from an old case of Sherlock's. Picture me as a trophy or an old…friend, well…I say friend…" the scull trailed off, mumbling to itself again. Lestrade chewed at his lip, unsure if he wanted to know what the skull meant, but he let his curiosity take hold and asked,

"What do you mean?" The skull was silent for a second, probably thinking over the old memory.

"Oh, it was one of his very first cases that we first met," Billy began. "Sherlock was just a teenager peaking around a crime scene while members of his homeless network distracted the police men. The police had found a dead woman in a museum and Sherlock of course was curious. I had grown board of sitting in my case at that dusty museum and decided to make a deal with the boy. If he took me home I'd help with the case," Billy stated. Lestrade raised an eyebrow.

"So you were partners?" Lestrade asked. Again, the scull managed an impossible nod. "Did you guys ever catch the killer?"

"Yep, and can you guess who it was?" The scull asked him. Lestrade shook his head. The scull managed a smile and cackled,

"ME!" Lestrade's eyes widened in fear as the scull somehow jumped off his mantle and began hobbling after him. Lestrade screamed, tipping over the couch as he tried to get away, but he ended up falling onto his back. Billy jumped onto Lestrade's chest, cackling evilly. "Time to-" the scull's mouth shut and laughing burst from the kitchen. Lestrade glanced over to see John walk out carrying a fishing line that mysteriously was attached to the skull. John was laughing so hard tears were falling from his eyes.

"John, you ruined it!" Sherlock pouted, jumping out from behind the fish tank.

"Sorry, Sherlock, I couldn't help it," John giggled.

"Well, no harm done. I wasn't going to last any longer either," Sherlock stated, laughing along with John. Lestrade sat up, staring at the skull that now lied in his lap. Realization finally hit him. Those idiots pranked him and he was dumb enough to fall for it. He glared at the two pranksters, bolting after them, eyes blazing. John and Sherlock ran, giggling like mad as the DI chased after them. Billy sat on the floor, cackling as the three chased each other throughout the cluttered floor.

* * *

**Happy New Year! Let's have a little New Year prank shall we? So what did you think of John and Sherlock's prank on Lestrade? I got the Scull's name from the Casebook if you're wondering. I'm not sure what the next one is going to be about yet. I'll have to look through my endless list of ideas. Thanks for reading guys!**


	6. Ripped

Lestrade and John both stared down at it. The tension in the room threatened to choke their frozen bodies. They had just committed the most unspeakable crime; a crime that could get them both beheaded.

"Maybe he won't notice," Lestrade offered, staring at the object that lied on the floor by their feet. John's eyes snapped to the Inspector.

"Not notice?! It's been ripped in half!" John yelled, pointing at Sherlock's greatest possession. It had not been their fault, but Sherlock Holmes wouldn't think that. Sherlock may send his brothers armed troops after them for ruining it! It had been an accident. It had been caught on something and the two tried to loosen it, but…well, let's just say things didn't turn out well. "Sherlock will be home soon…what should we do?" John stuttered. Lestrade paced the room, thinking over and over again of all the different ways they could handle this. They could tell the truth, but that could still get them _accidentally_ blown up in as an _experiment_. They could maybe get a new one, but Sherlock has had this for so long now that he would be able to tell if it was or wasn't his without even looking at it. No, they had to repair it somehow. They would have to be quick though. Sherlock couldn't possibly be gone for much longer. The detective had just gone off on a case, but he had told them right away that he would be back soon.

"We'll need someone to repair it," Lestrade stated. John nodded, reaching for his phone. Lestrade watched as the doctor quickly punched in the number to the one person who could help them.

"Hello, Mrs. Hudson, What do you know about repairing scarves?"

* * *

Mrs. Hudson was over in a matter of minutes. She had been apparently shopping close by when they had called. John and Lestrade greeted her, hugging her tightly. John probably held on for the longest. He had missed his landlady so much over the past couple days. It was good to finally see her again.

"So where is it?" Mrs. Hudson asked, looking around the cluttered flat. Lestrade and John pointed at the tattered blue scarf that lied on the coffee table. Mrs. Hudson sat down on the couch with her small brown bag that was packed with supplies to fix detectives favorite scarf. "Goodness! What did you do? Put it through a meat grinder?! Mrs. Hudson gasped as she lifted up the blue fabric. John and Lestrade glanced nervously at each other.

"Can you fix it?" John asked, nervously biting at his lip. Sherlock always carried his scarf with him. If it was gone what would the detective do then? They didn't want to think about it. Just the thought made their stomachs turn. Mrs. Hudson nodded a yes, pulling out a needle and navy blue thread. The boys sat around her, watching as her fingers fiddled gracefully over the soft fabric. As she worked Lestrade went to the kitchen to begin making tea when suddenly, footsteps began rushing up the stairs. Lestrade turned to John and Mrs. Hudson with fright, but the two had already hidden the scarf and were sitting together, talking like they were just catching up. Sherlock opened the door quickly, letting in the cold early morning air. He was shivering from the cold wind and his neck was raw since it was without its much needed protection.

"Morning, Sherlock!" Mrs. Hudson called, standing up from her seat on the couch. Sherlock stared at her at first with surprise and then with a radiant glow of joy. Sherlock hugged his favorite landlady tightly, kissing her cheek with a smile Lestrade had never witnessed before. Was he actually happy? Like _human_ happy? Now that was a mental picture he definitely needed to scrapbook!

"What brings you here?" Sherlock asked, taking a seat next to Mrs. Hudson on the couch. Mrs. Hudson smiled, ruffling Sherlock's crazy black curls.

"Oh, I was just passing by with some shopping and decided to see if poor Lestrade was still in one piece," Mrs. Hudson teased. John and Lestrade chuckled, but Sherlock only wrinkled his nose at her.

"Now why would you worry about something like that?" The consulting detective asked with raised eyebrows. Mrs. Hudson let out a laugh and held her hands out to the experiment cluttered flat. Sherlock fallowed her gesture and smirked, now understanding what she meant. Sherlock pulled off his coat, tossing it to the floor. His hand automatically reached for the scarf that usually hung around his neck, but stopped as he remembered he did not have it with him. "By the way, have you seen my scarf? I misplaced it and had to venture through that freezing wind all morning without it. I'll need it for when I go back out later," Sherlock stated, glancing around the flat, hoping that maybe it was just sitting in plain sight where he could not see it. John and Lestrade looked around with him to convince the skilled detective that they were innocent of any crimes. Sherlock seemed to buy it.

"Sherlock, I brought something for you and John. It's by the doorway. Can you go get it for me? I would, but my hip's been bothering me," Mrs. Hudson asked, batting her eyes at him. Sherlock mumbled under his breath, but then decided that it he shouldn't be complaining. He hadn't seen Mrs. Hudson in days and was just glad to finally see his favorite house keeper. Sherlock picked himself up from the couch and disappeared into the main hallway. Once they were sure he was out of hearing distance they yanked the scarf from its hiding spot from behind the cushions. Lestrade and John held the scarf still as Mrs. Hudson's delicate fingers flew down the last ripped section of the blue fabric.

"DONE!" Mrs. Hudson shouted, hiding her stitching utensils in her bag. Lestrade and John quickly set the scarf down by Sherlock's music stand before the detective came in carrying a small box.

Sherlock set the box down in front of John and sat next to his close friend so they could assist each other in opening Mrs. Hudson's gift to them. Carefully, they ripped the paper away, revealing a small brown box. John lifted the cover and Lestrade watched as their eyes widened. Sherlock gently lifted out a large role of paper. It wasn't any paper though. It was a blueprint! A blueprint for 221B! Lestrade's stomach knotted at the sight of it. He felt happy for the blogger detectives, but he also felt sad. He would miss them when they'd leave. It would be so quiet without them. Mrs. Hudson giggled as she watched the smiles curl around her boys' faces.

"I'm afraid it's going to be a while though. The damage to the wiring and pipes were pretty bad," Mrs. Hudson stated sadly. Sherlock grinned at her and then at Lestrade.

"Don't worry, Mrs. Hudson, we are doing fine here," Sherlock stated, standing from his seat next to John to where his violin sat near the stand. Sherlock's eyes quickly fell upon the scarf and his fingers brushed its soft fabric. A smile spread over his face as he wrapped the object tightly around his neck and lifted his violin up to play. "Nice stitching by the way," Sherlock stated, winking an eye at the three as they stared at him in surprise. Sherlock let out a soft chuckle and the others fallowed along. Oh well, the thoughts what counts, right?

* * *

**Sorry for the delay guys. I'm back at school now so everything's a bit tied up at the moment. I'll try to get up more as soon as possible. Anywho…I just wanted to say a big thank you to everyone who's been reading. I just noticed that I've had a thousand views for this! I'm so excited about it! I've never had so many people read my work before and it warms my heart to know that people are reading so thank you all! **


	7. Sick

Lestrade stared at the pale figure completely covered with blankets on his couch. Lestrade couldn't believe his eyes. The great Sherlock Holmes was ill and John Watson was leaving Greg alone with this monstrosity. Normally he would be fine with being stuck with Sherlock all day. He would just send him away on a case or something, but now, according to John, Sherlock would have to stay inside all day with no cases what so ever.

"Can't you watch him today? It's my day off," Lestrade complained. John sat by Sherlock's side with a hand pressed to Sherlock's sweaty forehead. Apparently John had found Sherlock stumbling around with delusion this morning and saved him from collapsing over the coffee table.

"No, I have work and I'm the only one paying the rent at Baker street since Sherlock rather do cases just for the thrill," John stated, eyeing Sherlock with vicious eyes. The detective covered his face with a quilt and growled at the doctor, sounding more pitiful then frightening. John broke his glare from Sherlock and turned back to the troubled DI. "Make sure he takes his medicine and keep him warm. And whatever you do- Don't. Let. Him. Leave. The. Flat!" John said, pointing an accusing finger at him before popping to his feet and disappearing through the door. Lestrade turned back to the buried detective and sighed deeply.

"Well, there goes my day off," Lestrade grumbled.

"And my work," Sherlock croaked from beneath the covers. Lestrade sat down next to Sherlock, kicking the detective's feet to the other side. He gently pulled the blanket away from Sherlock's shivering form to see the pale detective's angry blood shot eyes.

"This looks horrible!" Lestrade yelped, taking a thermometer from the side of the coffee table and popping it into Sherlock's mouth.

"It always is," Sherlock said before breaking into a fit of coughing. Lestrade stared at the thermometer. It wasn't too bad but it wasn't too good either. Sherlock definitely won't be on his feet for a while with this plaguing him. Sherlock rolled over on his stomach as the coughing grew even worse. Lestrade hesitantly reached out a hand to calm the detective. He wasn't too sure what he could do though. Sherlock was sick with a fever and there wasn't really much he could do to help the detective. Once the coughing spree ended Sherlock rolled back over on his back, breathing deeply.

"I'll get some water," Lestrade sighed, getting up from his spot on the couch to the kitchen. He was just searching for a clean mug when pained crying burst from the living room. Lestrade dropped what he had and dashed back to where Sherlock now lied with his hands clutching at his stomach and head. "Sherlock, what's wrong?" Lestrade asked as he kneeled down to his friend. Sherlock was shaking with pain and his grip on his stomach and head tightened. Lestrade gently pushed Sherlock's hands away to stare at the hurting areas, but he had no idea what to look for.

"I-"Sherlock choked down another sob and stared into Lestrade's face with wet eyes. Greg sucked in a breath. If Sherlock was crying from the pain then it really had to be bad. There is no way Sherlock Holmes would give in to emotions if it wasn't. Lestrade pushed Sherlock down on the couch, covering his body with a blanket before heading into the other room to call John.

"Hi, John, it's Lestrade," Greg stated into his phone as he prepared some water for Sherlock.

"Hi, what's up?" John asked him.

"It's Sherlock. His fever's gotten worse," Lestrade informed him.

"How so?" John asked. Lestrade quickly informed John about the pains Sherlock's been feeling in his stomach and head and about him crying from the extreme pain.

"Lestrade, I need you to be sure about this when you answer me. Did Sherlock look into your eyes when he cried or did he look away?" John asked. Lestrade frowned at the phone.

"What does that-" Lestrade was stopped as John quickly exclaimed,

"Sherlock tries to hide his emotions so if he really is crying then he'd avoid eye contact, but if he wanted something then-" Lestrade shut his phone and hurried into the living room. Oh how could he have been so blind? He's known Sherlock for years! He should have realized something was wrong!

Finally making it to the living room Lestrade stared at the empty couch. Sherlock was gone. Oh boy was john going to kill him now. Lestrade quickly grabbed his coat, knowing that Sherlock had only one place to go.

* * *

Sure enough. Lestrade had been right from the beginning. Sherlock had gone to Scotland Yard for a case. Lestrade strolled inside to see Donavan and Anderson starring at the detective as he continuously tripped around the room out of dizziness. He was mumbling about nothing important and looked like he may collapse from exhaustion any moment. Lestrade grabbed a pair of cuffs from Sherlock's coat, which now lied on the floor and strolled over to Sherlock, strapping them on Sherlock's arm and his. Sherlock glared at Lestrade with bleary eyes, but when he noticed what was around his wrist he paled.

"Lestrade, those aren't-"

"Shut it you!" Lestrade snapped. "Sherlock, what do you think you're doing acting like this? You're sick and should be at home in bed!" Lestrade looked around to see that everyone was staring at them and Anderson was filming the whole scene. Lestrade waved a fist at them to get them back to work, which they didn't seem too pleased about. It wasn't everyday they got to see Sherlock make a fool of himself. "Sherlock, you know how much danger you are putting yourself in? You could have easily fell down the stairs and snapped your-" Sherlock held his hand up, like a school child would when asking a question. Lestrade rolled his eyes and sighed dramatically, but let Sherlock speak.

"Where did you get those?" Sherlock asked, nodding at the cuffs. Lestrade mumbled himself about how he was dealing with a child.

"What does it matter?" Lestrade asked. "I got it from your coat." Sherlock turned an even whiter shade then he was before.

"Umm…Lestrade, those cuffs don't have a key," Sherlock stated in almost a whisper. Lestrade stared down at the cuffs.

"What happened to the keys, Sherlock?" Lestrade hissed. Sherlock swallowed nervously.

"Last night's experiment."

* * *

**And the boys are now stuck! How are they going to get out of this one? You'll have to wait for the next one. Thanks for reading guys!**


	8. Stuck

"le-strade, why you keep looken for key? Told ya I's melted em," Sherlock slurred. Lestrade would have laughed at Sherlock for his delirious babbling, but Lestrade is finding it hard to laugh when he is cuffed to a delusional detective who is sick with fever. Back at the Yard Sherlock had been spinning around like one of those toy tops Lestrade's dad used to get him when he was a kid. Lucky for him Donavan had volunteered to drive them home…after she helped Anderson upload the video of Sherlock making a fool of himself online. The press was going to be fanatic about that. Lestrade couldn't help but hope that they didn't know where Sherlock and John were now staying. The last thing he wanted was to be pulled into this thing along with them. The press are more dangerous than any serial killer.

"Sherlock I don't feel like being stuck to you for the rest of my life. I know I have an extra key somewhere in this stupid flat, but after you 'redecorated' they seem to have been misplaced," Lestrade hissed through his teeth. Sherlock lifted a hand to his mouth, giggling like a madman. Lestrade made a mental note to call John back and have him bring the detective some kind of medicine to snap him out of this. It was starting to scare the DI. He's never seen Sherlock unable to keep himself in check. Sherlock had always been so proper so stuck up. Now he was just babbling away about anything and everything. Including something about Mycroft and an old girlfriend Lestrade really wished he could erase from his memory.

"Want elp?" Sherlock asked, tripping over his feet and bringing Lestrade down on the floor with him. Sherlock started laughing as Lestrade smashed Sherlock under his weight. Lestrade had no idea what was so funny about getting flattened.

"No, Sherlock, I don't think you'll be much help," Lestrade sighed, lifting himself from the cackling detective. Sherlock frowned at him, regaining some of his control again. Maybe he was snapping out of it now.

"I am very helpful, Lestrade. I am quite skilled in the manner of observation. I-" Sherlock stopped and looked around the room, his expression changing back into its insane smile. "I's …you see dat? I think was a…a… strade, what we doin here?" And now he's gone again. Lestrade had hoped too soon. Sherlock had left Lestrade with his other self again…yippy. He needed to get Sherlock occupied on something other than babbling about nonsense.

"Yeah, ok, Sherlock, why don't you play with this," Lestrade said, tossing a rubix cube at the detective. Sherlock's delusional self-stared at the small block and grinned evilly at it. Lestrade smiled as the child-like detective fiddled with the toy. That had been easy. Lestrade walked around the flat, pulling Sherlock behind him. "I am going to have to get a better place for my keys," Lestrade grumbled, searching through a cupboard. Sherlock remained silent except for the click clack of the rubix cube he was so deeply involved with. Lestrade would have to remember that for the next time he needed Sherlock to keep quiet. Lestrade was just searching through a few pockets, when he felt his arm tug downwards. Lestrade looked down, expecting Sherlock to be rolling on the floor laughing, but the detective wasn't. No, instead Lestrade was shocked to find that Sherlock had broken from his delusional mind and was back to his usual look, except for the part that he was shaking on the floor. Lestrade kneeled down by his friend, fear bubbling inside him as he stared at his friend, who was too pale for words.

"Sherlock, what's wrong?" Lestrade asked him. Sherlock's eyes dragged up to Lestrade's, but quickly turned away. Lestrade looked over Sherlock, noting that he shivered on and off again. He must be having hot and cold flashes or something like that. Lestrade, deciding to give up his search, yanked Sherlock up and dropped him onto the couch to rest. Sherlock curled up into a ball and Lestrade dropped a blanket over his body after checking Sherlock's temperature again. it was a little hotter, but not too much. Sherlock looked at Lestrade, frowning as his body shook uncontrollably.

"Lestrade, put me out of my misery," Sherlock groaned, wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead wish a shaky hand. Lestrade laughed, shaking his head.

"I would to save myself from any more of your diluted babbling, but John would kill me," Lestrade stated. Sherlock let out a dramatic sigh and stared at the blank ceiling, lifting his hands into their usual prayer like position.

"Sherlock, I'm back! I have some-" John grew silent as he stared at the cuffs around Lestrade and Sherlock's wrists. John opened his mouth and shut it quickly.

"I don't want to know," John sighed, bring a bag of medical supplies over to the both of them. Lestrade quickly told John about Sherlock's episodes and reported the fever. Sherlock of course, denied the whole scene. John pulled out a bottle of thick purple liquid and slipped a spoonful into Sherlock's mouth before the detective could argue. Sherlock gagged at the horrible test as the liquid entered his mouth. "Sleep," John ordered, ruffling Sherlock's sweaty black curls. Sherlock didn't even bother arguing with John. He most likely could tell that John would not let Sherlock have his way this time. Lestrade watched as Sherlock's eyes fluttered closed and his breathing deepened.

"Will he be alright?" Lestrade asked. John brushed the sweaty hair from Sherlock's face and nodded.

"Yeah, he should be his same old annoying self by tomorrow morning," John sighed, staring at the peacefully sleeping detective. Lestrade frowned and rubbed at his face, he had a feeling his hair had grown greyer from these past few hours.

"Then again, I think I like the delusional Sherlock Holmes better," Lestrade teased. John chuckled and turned his attention to the cuffs that rested tightly around Sherlock and Lestrade's wrists.

"Um so do you need me to get the key?" John asked, nodding at the cuffs. Lestrade shook his head.

"No, we're going to need a lock smith to come over. Sherlock apparently melted them in an experiment," Lestrade sighed with a huff. John stuck his hand into his pocket, fishing out a pair of keys. Lestrade frowned at them and then at John questionably.

"Figured that I'd keep the spare so Sherlock wouldn't destroy or lose them," John sighed. Greg let out a sigh of relief and held out his shackled hand.

"Good old Dr. Watson, you saved us again!"

* * *

**Here is the continuing part of Sick. Hope you all like it! **


	9. Shopping

"_Too many carbohydrates."_

"_Do you actually expect someone to eat that? _

"_YUCK!"_

"_Lestrade, maybe you should leave the shopping to John. He's better at it."_

These were just the few and more pleasant things Sherlock told Lestrade as they walked through the supermarket. Lestrade normally doesn't bring the detective with him, but Sherlock had been driving him crazy from the lack of cases so he figured that a little trip for some milk wouldn't be too bad. Boy was he wrong! Sherlock was running around antagonizing the other shoppers and insulting Lestrade's shopping skills.

"Sherlock stand still!" Lestrade shouted, grabbing Sherlock by the back of the coat collar as he tried to rush past him. Sherlock choked from the fabric tightening around his neck as Lestrade held him in place.

"But it's so _boring_ here!" Sherlock whined, tapping his foot impatiently. Lestrade rolled his eyes and shoved the shopping basket into Sherlock's hands.

"You better help me then so we can get done faster," Lestrade said, walking down to the dairy isle. Sherlock fallowed close behind, swinging the basket like a lethal weapon. Lestrade understood now why John never took Sherlock shopping. The man was just asking to get kicked out by the manager. Lestrade was just about to turn the corner when Sherlock's hand suddenly stopped him and pushed him into a different isle. "Sherlock what the hell are you-" Sherlock covered Lestrade's mouth and pointed at his ears, gesturing him to listen. Lestrade stopped struggling and fallowed Sherlock's order. He could hear someone whimpering from the register and shouting too. Finally, it clicked in Lestrade's average mind. The supermarket was being robbed. Once Sherlock noticed Lestrade's eyes widen in realization he pulled his hand away. Lestrade pulled a gun from his inner jacket pocket, glancing at the scene. A man with dark hair and suit was waving a gun at the cashier, threatening to shoot. "Any plans?" Lestrade asked. He turned away to look at Sherlock for instructions, but the consultant was gone! Lestrade's head snapped this way and that, searching for the missing detective.

"Hey there! Hurry up wills ya! I gotta get goin!" an oddly familiar voice echoed from by the register. Lestrade froze, letting his eyes scan back to the cash register. There stood Sherlock Holmes, wearing black glasses and a can meant for the blind in his right hand. What was he up to now? This wasn't really the time to be playing dress up. Lestrade steadied his gun, preparing himself incase Sherlock's odd plan went horribly wrong.

"Get back!" the robber shouted, pointing his gun unsteadily at Sherlock's head. Sherlock pretended not to see the gun threatening him, keeping up with his acting. Sherlock simply just shoved his suddenly filled basket at the cashier and shouted at her to hurry up. The robber snapped the safety off his gun, wobbling a little.

"Stop! He's blind! He doesn't understand!" a women from the lane over shouted in terror. Sherlock wrinkled his nose, beginning to empty his basket. He looked as though he was examining the robber from the very corner of his eye. Lestrade wanted to cover his eyes as Sherlock suddenly stepped over to the robber, waving his cane at the robber.

"Get out will ya!" Sherlock shouted. "If you wanted money to pay for your daughter's hospital bill you should have picked a day Sherlock Holmes and Detective Inspector Lestrade were not shopping!" Sherlock shouted, yanking off the glasses. Lestrade took that as his cue and stepped into the open, holding his gun at the young robber. Everyone gasped in surprise at the two. Some whipped out their phones and began taping the whole scene.

"How…how did you-"

"Know?" Sherlock interrupted the robber. "It was simple. You have been clearly staying in a hospital for days judging by the smell of disinfectant and the amount of grease in your hair. I know it's your daughter because you have a "get well soon sweetie" card in your back pocket. It could only be a daughter judging by the pink butterflies painted on it," Sherlock finished in a single breath. The robber was shaking now, but he refused to lower his weapon.

"I will shoot you, Mr. Holmes! Let me go!" the robber shouted. Sherlock looked the man up and down and then smirked.

"You won't shoot."

"What? Of course I will!"

"No, look how shaky you are. You are afraid and will hesitate, but when you glance at my friend Lestrade here his is perfectly still," Sherlock stated, nodding in Lestrade's direction. "He won't hesitate, but you will because you are terrified. Now, sir, drop the gun. You are under arrest," Sherlock ordered calmly. The man hesitated, but as He noticed Lestrade's grip on the trigger tighten he dropped the weapon at Sherlock's feet and collapsed to his knees in tears. Lestrade quickly walked forward, confiscating the gun and placing handcuffs tightly around the robber's wrists. Everyone in the store began clapping and cheering. Some of the customers' phones bleeped as they all began posting the scene on Twitter, Facebook, Tumbler, and all those other web pages that will one day take over the world. Sherlock walked over to Lestrade's side smiling smugly. "Well, Lestrade, that was fun wasn't it? We should probably head home. I'm sure that John has already witnessed the scene online and is just fuming that he missed out once again," Sherlock snickered. Lestrade smiled at Sherlock. The detective had the color back in his cheeks and his eyes were bright with excitement. He clearly loved the thrill he had gained from the whole scene, but Lestrade knew that it wouldn't last long. In a few minutes Sherlock would become once again bored and would be antagonizing the world (and most importantly the wall) once again. Lestrade let out a sigh. At least now he can send Sherlock off to the market when he's bored and threatening to destroy the flat.

* * *

**Well, there you go! Shopping with Sherlock Holmes is of course never simple. I'm trying to get writing more but with school, my novel, other fanfics, and writers block it's been difficult. I hope you all like this one! Thanks for reading guys! **


	10. Surprise

There were three questions running through Lestrade's mind as he ran down into the living room after hearing glass shatter and shouting.

What is the whole Baker Street crew doing here?

Why is Donavan laying on top of Sherlock?

Why is John holding a video camera?

* * *

**2 hours earlier….**

"Um…sorry for interrupting…are you guys ready to go home-What the hell are you guys doing?" Lestrade asked as he came into his office. Sherlock and John were sitting on his desk, clearly hiding something behind their backs.

"Oh nothing, Lestrade," Sherlock stated, jumping up from the desk and stuffing whatever he and John had been hiding in his pocket. Greg frowned at the detective, who was smiling at him with those all-knowing eyes. Greg's head snapped over to John with raised eyebrows. John only swallowed a chuckle and jumped to Sherlock's side.

"I'll pay the cabbie this time," John stated, fallowing Sherlock out the door. Lestrade frowned at the two men as they left his office. What were they hiding? Lestrade's eyes scanned the room, looking for anything that may be out of place. Everything looked like it was in perfect order, which for Lestrade was amazing. Greg let out a long sigh and stepped out of his office and out to the cold London air.  
"I wonder what they are planning now."

* * *

Lestrade sat on the couch, watching old re-runs of Doctor Who. He wasn't really paying attention to the TV show. He was busy trying to guess what John and Sherlock were doing to his kitchen. The smoke alarm had gone off twice now and smoke was starting to curl out from that direction once again.

"If you killed my stove again I'll kill you both!" Lestrade shouted in the direction of the smoking kitchen. Sherlock poked his head out, which would have looked normal except from the fluffy green splotch on his nose.

"Nothing to worry about, Lestrade," Sherlock coughed from the smoke he must have inhaled. "Just a small experiment." Lestrade frowned at the detective. This was no small experiment! They had to be doing something.

"Sherlock, I think it's done!" John's voice shouted from inside the smoke infested kitchen.

"Finally! I'll get the matches.

"No, Sherlock, we have to wait till later to light it up." Lestrade's stomach tightened. What were they lighting up? Oh god, if it's another bomb his landlord is going to kill him! Sherlock must have noticed Lestrade's worried face because soon Lestrade found Sherlock pushing him into the bedroom.

"You look terrible; get some sleep," Sherlock stated before shutting the door. Lestrade collapsed on his bed, listening as John and Sherlock ran around his flat doing who knows what. He felt his eyes suddenly grow heavy and was out in a matter of seconds.

Lestrade woke to find that it was quiet. There was no running or clattering of glass or other breakable things. Lestrade slowly lifted himself from his spot on the bed and dashed downstairs. This much quiet was never a good thing in his flat now days. Lestrade looked left and right, searching for his two friends, but as he came to the kitchen his heart clenched. Everything was gone! The severed body parts, beakers, experiments, and everything else that would have shown that Sherlock Holmes and John Watson had stayed in his flat was gone. What was going on? Where was everyone?

"SURPRISE!" Lestrade jumped as Sherlock and John jumped out of nowhere, holding a big green frosted cake.

"What? Why are you-"

"It's our farewell present, Lestrade," John stated with a wide smile.

"Farewell present?" Lestrade asked. What was going on? Who was leaving? Something didn't fell right. Sherlock laughed loudly, patting Lestrade's back.

"Oh, they finished building 221B! We're going home," Sherlock stated. Lestrade's heart clenched. Already? How did the time go by so fast?

"Yep, see ya, Greg," John shouted, flinging open the door for Sherlock. Sherlock handed Lestrade the cake and stepped through the door, leaving the DI alone in an empty flat.

* * *

**Present Time…**

Lestrade shot up from his bed blinking in terror from his nightmare. It was just a dream. Everything was alright. CRASH! A smile curled over his face at the lovely sound. They were still here. Lestrade shot from his bed, running downstairs to see a sight he never thought possible. Mrs. Hudson, Molly, Anderson, and several other people from the Yard were in his living room. Sherlock was lying on the floor with Donavan on top of him. Both of them looked shocked and were tangled in streamers. John was standing at their side with a video camera in his hands. He was laughing at the two fools lying on the floor.

"Um…What's going on?" Lestrade asked, stepping out into the room so everyone could see him. The crowd froze and Donavan and Sherlock popped to their feet, blushing slightly.

"SURPRISE!" Everyone shouted, laughing happily. Lestrade frowned at them and watched as Mrs. Hudson brought out a green frosted cake. Oh no. Was it really happening? Were they really leaving? Lestrade felt as though he may be sick, but when he saw the writing etched out on the cake his heart calmed.

_Happy Birthday_

Lestrade smiled at the birthday cake. He had been so worried that he had completely forgotten about his big day. What and idiot! Lestrade smiled up at everyone thanking them for everything.

"Well, let's eat!" Mrs. Hudson called, cutting the cake for everyone. John walked around the room, capturing everyone's happy smiles on camera as they bit into the cake. Lestrade took a bight of cake and glanced over to Donavan and Sherlock, who were clearly avoiding each other.

"Why were you two on top of each other?" Lestrade finally blurted. Sherlock choked on his drink and Donavan looked as green as the cake. Maybe Lestrade didn't want to know.

"Oh, they were putting up the streamers and Donavan fell so Sherlock (being the good Samaritan he is) tried to catch her, but it just ended up with a pile up," John stated simply. Lestrade broke out in laughter, picturing the two in his mind.

"Please tell me you got that on tape!" Lestrade giggled. John smiled widely and waved the camera happily.

"This year's Christmas present," John chuckled evilly. Sherlock looked like he was going to be ill and Lestrade couldn't help but laugh. He was so glad that they weren't leaving tonight. He knew that eventually they would be leaving, but at least they would have memories like this to keep them going.


	11. Where's My Violin

Lestrade lied on the couch with his hand sprawled over his face. His eyes stung from the light and his head felt like it was being slowly crushed like a can. Why did he go out with John and Sherlock last night? He knew that he was drinking too much, but how was he to know it would become this bad?

SCREACH!

Lestrade flinched as the horrible nose rattled his brain. "No, not again. Not tonight, please," Lestrade pleaded to himself. Lestrade's eyes rolled to clock that slowly ticked on the wall. It was 3:00 in the morning. There was no way he could be up. He had drunken as much as Lestrade; more even! He should be plastered to his bed after drinking over ten beers!

SCREACH!

Lestrade covered his ears as the sound echoed through the room again. His eyes slowly swept over the experiment infested flat to the window, where Sherlock Holmes stood tuning his violin. A smile spread across Sherlock's face as he finished and the detective lifted the violin under his chin. Soft and beautiful music is what Lestrade should have heard, but his hangover morphed it into nonstop screeches. It was 3:00 in the morning. Did he always have to play it when everyone else was trying to sleep? Lestrade glared at the instrument that rested under Sherlock's chin. There was no way he was going to let that thing ruin his good night sleep again. He felt and evil Grinch like grin curve over his face. Yes, tonight he will sleep soundly. He just has to put his plan into action.

* * *

Lestrade lied comfortably in his bed that night. His hangover was partially gone now, but he still had a horrible headache. He dreamed peacefully, glad that his little plot to stop Sherlock from playing at three in the morning had played off. Or did it?

CRASH!

Lestrade flew up from his bed at the loud crashing sound. What was that?! Had someone broken in? Fallowing his instincts he grabbed his gun, dashing down the stairs. He jumped out into the living room pointing the gun at a crazed looking life form that was tossing things all around the flat.

"Hands up!" Lestrade shouted at the figure, readying his gun. The figure stopped throwing things around and stared at Lestrade with wicked bloodshot eyes.

"Where is it?" the figure hissed in a dangerous tone. Lestrade stared at the figure in confusion. Then it hit him. It was only Sherlock. Lestrade let out a sigh but didn't lower his weapon. Sherlock looked as if he was out for blood. There was no way Lestrade was going to have "killed by a deranged consulting detective" on his record.

"Where is what?" Lestrade asked, looking around at the demolished flat. Glass was all over the floor and Sherlock was rushing about without any shoes or socks. Whatever he was searching for had to be important if he was too occupied to put on his own shoes. The furniture was flipped over as well; leaving the place look like it had been robbed.

"Don't play coy with me, Detective Inspector Lestrade!" Sherlock growled like a mad dog, causing Greg to take a few steps back. Sherlock was like a ticking time bomb waiting to blow. "My Violin…What. Have. You. Done. To. It!" Lestrade wetted his lips as he stared into the blazing blue eyes of Sherlock Holmes. His gun shook in his hand. He was actually scared. He had no idea that hiding something as simple as a Violin would earn him this kind of look from the great detective. He wouldn't give in though. He wanted sleep. He needed sleep! He wasn't going to let Sherlock win this easily.

"Swear you won't play at 3:00 am anymore and I'll tell you," Lestrade stated, flipping a chair over so he could sit. Sherlock's eyes blazed even more dangerously, leaving Lestrade wishing that maybe he had just given in right away.

"Never," Sherlock hissed. Lestrade shrugged his shoulders, deciding to stand his ground.

"Guess you'll have to use those great observation powers of yours instead then," Lestrade sighed, earning a beaker thrown at his face. Sherlock, eyes buzzing over the room, frantically clamored throughout the room in search of his prized possession. Lestrade watched, wondering how long it would take for Sherlock to give up.

Crash!

Sherlock tossed a chair into Lestrade's glass coffee table. Lestrade forced a scream back down. Sherlock was destroying his flat. He couldn't give in though. He had to prove a point. Sherlock would most likely find it soon. He is the greatest consulting detective in the world after all.

* * *

Well, it is no longer three in the morning now. In fact it is now noon and Sherlock is still endlessly searching for the violin Lestrade had so cleverly hid. The flat looked like it had been hit by a tornado and there was nothing that was not suffering from damages. Sherlock stood in the middle of the demolished flat breathing hard. He was fuming with anger. He had flopped the entire flat literally upside down and his beloved violin was still missing. Lestrade sat in the same place he had been seated several hours ago. His eyes were heavy from the lack of sleep and his head was beating like a drum. He stared at the consulting detective, who was not doing very well at hiding his terrifying emotions. Lestrade was sure that if Sherlock was going to kill him pretty soon if he didn't spit out the location of the blasted instrument. Lestrade watched in fear as Sherlock turned on him with a murderous look.

"Alright, alright, I'll tell you!" Lestrade screamed. Sherlock's body relaxed slightly and the cool blue slowly filled his red eyes again as calmness started to slowly bubble through his body. Lestrade hesitantly walked past Sherlock and lifted the loose tile from the kitchen floor, but as he stared in it he felt a sickly feeling crawl throughout his body. The violin was gone! Lestrade stiffened as he felt Sherlock's warm breath against his neck. This was not good. This was not good at all!

"Lestrade, if you lost my violin I will kill you," Sherlock whispered in a tense, but also strangely calm voice. Lestrade stayed silent, trying to figure out the quickest escape route out of his flat without being killed first.

"Umm…see ya!" Lestrade gasped, bolting toward the door. He was too slow though. Sherlock grabbed his ankles, sending Lestrade crashing face first into the floor. Lestrade let out a pained groan and tried crawling away, but Sherlock was on him in seconds. Lestrade screamed, kicking Sherlock onto his back and pouncing at the detective. The two rolled on the floor like to teenagers, when Lestrade's savior opened the door.

"I'm back!" John shouted, stepping into view. He was holding a small black vase in his hands. "What the hell happened here?" John gasped, looking around the flat and then at the two lying on the floor.

"John, what's that?" Sherlock asked, eyeing the case. John looked down at it, a smile playing at his lips.

"Oh, I found your violin sticking out of the tile floor (I'm not even going to ask why) and noticed that it was starting to look a little dull so I took it in and had it polished," John stated, handing Sherlock the black case. Sherlock carefully opened the casing and pulled out the dazzling instrument. Sherlock's eyes beamed with pleasure as he stroked the soft strings. John took Sherlock's widening smile as a thank you and flipped the couch over to sit on. Sherlock stood and nestled the instrument under his chin. Lestrade listened to the sweet music, happy to hear its peaceful music once again.

* * *

**Hi guys! Hope you all enjoyed this one. I have a small favor to ask all of you. I am having a major problem with writers block for this story. I have around two ideas left so if anyone has ideas for me I'll be glad to hear them. You can write them in a review or just PM me. It's up to you. Thanks!**


	12. A Night Out At Angelo's

Lestrade walked down the street with John and Sherlock from Scotland Yard. It had been a very long day for all of them and all they wanted at the moment was to go home and rest. The new case was going nowhere and no new leads were jumping out at them yet. Sherlock was even frustrated with it! They were being run ragged by the crazy case.

They were just about to turn the corner when Lestrade felt an arm grab him. He looked down to see Sherlock Holmes collapsing to the ground.

"SHERLOCK!" Lestrade screamed, reaching for his friend before he could hit the pavement. Sherlock blinked at Lestrade and John with heavy eyes. He yawned and curled in a tight ball as he rested his head against Lestrade and John. He was much paler than before and his eyes were blood shot from the strain to keep them open. He was clearly exhausted. Why hadn't they noticed? Sherlock looked like hell and they didn't even notice?!

"Sherlock," John began, looking over the consulting detective carefully. Sherlock uncurled from his little ball and blinked up at his friend. "When did you last eat or sleep?" All eyes were at the now very weak and very tired man, who rested in Lestrade's arms. Lestrade chewed the inside of his cheek as he feared the answer. Sherlock was known for not taking care of himself, but he was living in Lestrade's flat now. Lestrade should have realized if he was skipping meals or not. Sherlock cleared his throat, starring down at the concrete and stated between yawns,

"Since the Dominick case." The two stared at each other with pale faces as Sherlock informed them about this. Sherlock should be in the hospital! No man on this earth, let alone Sherlock, could survive _that_ long without proper food or sleep! It just wasn't possible! It was no wonder that he was passing out in the middle of the street.

"We better go to Angelo's then and get you sorted out," Lestrade suggested, helping John pull Sherlock to his feet. The consultant stumbled as the weight hit his exhausted body, but his friends kept him steady.

* * *

Soon they were all seated in a booth near the window at Angelo's, waiting for their menus. Lestrade and John were both drinking coffee, but Sherlock was forced to stick with warm milk to help him sleep. The last thing they needed right now was an over caffeinated Sherlock Holmes. John had told Lestrade about the little incident a while back when he had offered the detective a coffee. Apparently Sherlock had been living off of caffeine for a weak to prove an experiment. John had to literally scrape him of the walls and tie him down to keep him from destroying the whole flat! Sherlock had gone mad and was constantly trying to escape the flat. He apparently was almost hit by a car more times than any stray dog or cat. After that John has forced a new 'no caffeine policy' towards Sherlock.

Sherlock's head was leaned against the window, constantly bobbing. John kept trying to tell the detective that sleep was heavily needed and that they would wake him when the menus came, but Sherlock merely ignored every single word. Instead, he drummed his fingers loudly on the table's surface.

"We need to get him to sleep," Lestrade sighed, watching the weary consulting detective. John nodded in agreement, taking a sip of his coffee.

"The question is how?" John noted. Lestrade picked up his coffee and stared into the dark liquid, thinking. How could they get this arrogant idiot to fall asleep? Lestrade barely ever saw Sherlock sleep during a case. This was going to be a challenge.

"How about a little bet?" Lestrade said, smiling at his coffee. John frowned at him.

"What?"

"A bet," Lestrade mused wickedly. "If I get Sherlock to fall asleep first you clean up the experiment on the kitchen ceiling while I enjoy my vacation for once. If you get him to fall asleep then-"

"Then you can clean up that monstrosity while I go out with my girlfriend," John stated. Lestrade glanced over at the weary detective, whose head rested against the table.

"You're on, I look forward to watching you clean that slime off my ceiling," Lestrade stated, holding out a hand. John shook his hand, grinning at the DI with an equally wicked smile.

This was war.

Lestrade thought for a second, remembering all the things that make him fall asleep. There were old movies, Disney's Fantasia, Thanksgiving dinner, Disney's Fantasia, lectures, Sherlock's deductions…

An evil grin spread over his face as an idea that was fools proof popped into his head. Lestrade yanked out his mobile and plucked in the all too familiar numbers and setting it to loud speaker.

"Hello?" Anderson's voice called over the phone. John frowned at the phone that now rested on the table, but Sherlock remained still, resting his head against the table tiredly.

"Hi, Anderson, it's Lestrade. I'd like to hear you opinion on the Dominick case," Lestrade stated into the phone. There was silence over the phone for what seemed like the longest time. Lestrade thought Anderson had hung up when the idiot finally called out from the other end of the phone,

"Bout time someone asked my opinion," Anderson huffed. Lestrade rested his head on his hand, preparing himself for a very long lecture. John copied Lestrade's actions and Sherlock remained where he was, staring blankly at the old phone that echoed Anderson's voice. "Let's see…where do I start?" Anderson sighed. Sherlock sighed dramatically, tapping his slender fingers harder on the table. Lestrade smiled to himself. There is no way Sherlock will be able to keep himself from dozing off to this. "Oh, yes. Andy Dominick was found with oil on his coat collar and red slashes along his neck. I believe that…" Lestrade and John stopped listening after that. Their eyes batted tiredly as Anderson talked on and on about how Andy had a simple accident at the shop and all that. They knew he was wrong though. Sherlock had pointed out that the markings on Andy's neck would have been far worse if he had gotten his coat collar stuck in the machine. Both Lestrade and John had known this to be true. They have seen too many bodies come in that have had the misfortune of getting caught in a machine and this case was definitely not one of them. "Better tell Sherlock that he's losing his touch. I solved the case in a matter of seconds and how long has it taken him? Looks like that Psychopath isn't as smart as he-"

"Correction, Anderson," Sherlock stated through gritted teeth, sitting upright and looking more awake then what Lestrade had wanted. "I am not a psychopath I am a high functioning Sociopath! The only reason it has taken me this long is because I have been forced to listen to your idiotic ideas! You really are starting to lower the IQ of the entire street!" He stated the last for good measure and hung up Lestrade's phone.

"Well, that didn't last long," John teased. Lestrade stuck his tongue out at John like a school boy and turned back to Sherlock, who was now poking at the white liquid that sat untouched in his mug.

"It lasted long enough!" Sherlock growled, pinching the bridge of his nose as if to ward away a headache. Sherlock took a sip of the no longer warm milk and scowled at it. "John can't I just have a cup of coffee…tea…anything other than this?" Sherlock said, shoving the mug at his friend. John rolled his eyes.

"No, Sherlock, warm milk is supposed to help you sleep," John stated. Sherlock smacked his head against the table dramatically and mumbled to himself. A wicked smile curled over John's face as he stared at his friend. Moments later John was softly humming a tune Lestrade had heard many times as a child. He was humming a lullaby.

"John, don't sing," Sherlock mumbled into the table. John didn't pay any attention to Sherlock though. Instead he kept on humming softly, allowing Lestrade to join him. They watched as Sherlock's head swayed on the table, slowly growing heavy from the urge to sleep.

"Oh dear god, please shoot me now," Sherlock grumbled, folding his hands over his head to block out the humming of his two friends, but instead of stopping all together they broke out in song. Sherlock's eyes fluttered lightly. John and Lestrade smiled at each other. It was working. It was slow, but it was still working.

_Sleep away Sherlock, in our small flat_

_When the case is closed, the detectives will rest_

_When a new body's found, the detectives will rise_

_And down will run Sherlock, with his greatest allies _

The two sung over and over again until Sherlock's breathing evened out and his fingers grew still against the table. John gently brushed the dark curls out of Sherlock's face, revealing the sleeping detective's pale face. John smiled smugly at Lestrade.

"Look who's cleaning the ceiling tonight," John giggled. Lestrade crossed his arms and glared in the direction of the sleeping detective.

"I can't believe that worked." John shrugged, taking a sip of coffee.

"He acts like a kid most of the time so it seemed like a good idea."

"John, you really should know by now when I am sleeping and when I am just thinking," Sherlock's voice mumbled from the table. John and Lestrade turned in surprise at the detective, who now sat straight up. John's mouth fell open as he stared at his friend.

"Well, that bet went nowhere," Lestrade sighed, slumping down on the table.

"Bet? What bet?" Angelo asked as he came over to their table with the menus. John handed Sherlock and Lestrade each a menu and turned back to Angelo.

"Oh, we just had placed a bet that whoever got Sherlock to fall asleep first didn't have to clean up the experiment he blew up this morning," John informed the man Sherlock had saved once a very long time ago. A grin spread over Angelo's face.

"Tell ya what... if I can get Sherlock to fall asleep you pay double tonight. If I can't you can eat for free," Angelo bargained. Lestrade and John exchanged a look, knowing that there was no way Angelo would be able to get Sherlock to sleep after his own closest friends couldn't come close.

"You're on," the two stated, looking at the most expensive foods in the menu. They're paying nothing today; that was a fact. Angelo stood straight and stared at the dreary detective, who rested his head against the window, staring out into the buzzing city.

"Cameron!" Angelo shouted out by the kitchen. As soon as he did a little girl with golden curls skipped out of the kitchen.

"Who's this?" John asked, smiling at the little girl, who giggled shyly at him. She was wearing a purple dress with a blue flower pattern on it. Her eyes were a bright green and her cheeks were a soft pink.

"This is my niece," Angelo stated before, whispering something into Cameron's ear. The little girl blushed and glanced in Sherlock's direction. She nodded and rushed back into the kitchen. When she returned she was carrying a small violin in her hands. Angelo lifted Cameron on the table, like she was on stage and the little girl lifted the violin under her chin. Gently, she brushed the bow delicately over the strings of her violin, letting out the most melodious sound the two have ever heard. Lestrade felt his jaw drop and even John looked surprised by the child's flawless playing.

"Who taught her to play like that?" John asked, stunned. Angelo let out a laugh.

"She was taught by the same man who is sleeping next to you," Angelo mused, pointing a finger at the window. Lestrade and John turned to see Sherlock's sleeping figure resting against the cool window. A smile was resting against his thin lips. Lestrade let out a long sigh and turned to the less expensive side of the menu. Oh well…it was better than scraping gunk off the ceiling.

* * *

_**Sorry this one is so long. I was having fun and couldn't stop typing. Thanks for all the ideas guys! I can't wait to get started on them! I'll try to get some new ones up soon. Well…night everyone! And if you need help going to sleep just call Angelo. I'm sure he'd be glad to help.**_

_**Sleep away Sherlock, in our small flat**_

_**When the case is closed, the detectives will rest**_

_**When a new body's found, the detectives will rise**_

_**And down will run Sherlock, with his greatest allies **_


	13. Denial or Meteors?

Lestrade let out a tired sigh as he opened the door to his flat. He was glad to be home at last. Donavan was giving him the usual headache, stating how he should stop trusting Sherlock and all that, but after Sherlock moved in Lestrade has seen a different side of his friend. Yes, he may be rude and arrogant, but there is something in him that still cares.

Lestrade was about to step into the living room when a terrifying sight caught his eyes.

"Oh, GOD! What the hell are you two doing on my balcony?!" Lestrade screamed, covering his eyes. Sherlock was dressed in his red dressing grown and John was in his usual sleeping attire as well, but the thing that knotted Lestrade's stomach was _what_ they were doing. Sherlock and John were lying in the middle of the balcony that stretched out into the cold London air, only inches away from each other. Sherlock had been lying next to John. They were not even an inch away from each other when Lestrade so rudely interrupted them!

John and Sherlock flew to their feet, blushing a vibrant color of pink.

"Lestrade, please…um…we were just-"

"I can't believe it's true!" Lestrade screamed in shock. "You two are…are…OH MY GOD!" Lestrade yelped, causing his flat mates to step back in fear of his excited babbling. "Looks like I lost another bet with Donavan again. Boy is she going to be crazy over this!" John held up his hand to get a word in. Lestrade turned back to the two that were now a deep shade of red.

"We. Are. Not. A. Couple!" John shouted at Lestrade. "We were just-" Lestrade burst into a fit of giggles. He couldn't believe any of this. How could he have been so blind?!

"You what? John, there is no need. I swear that I'll keep my mouth shut, but could you two please stay off the Balcony? I doubt you want any civilians seeing you two…_together_" Lestrade said, glancing back and forth at the two.

"Oh, for heaven's sake! Lestrade, we were not doing what you think!" Sherlock hissed dangerously. Lestrade held in the laughter that threatened to come out of his mouth. He couldn't believe they were in denial. He had seen what they were about to do! They were…oh gosh…it's just too much!

"Denial!" Lestrade shouted, pointing an accusing finger at Sherlock. The detective glared at Lestrade with his stormy blue eyes.

"We are not a couple Gregory Lestrade! DO YOU UNDERSTAND?!" Sherlock roared dangerously. Lestrade took a few steps back, realizing that he was treading on hot water. Sherlock could easily toss him out from the balcony if he felt fit. Lestrade couldn't help to keep his smile though. It was just too crazy to comprehend what he had witnessed. The uncontrollable giggles were threatening to burst from his mouth again as he stood there, staring at their red faces. Lestrade took in a deep breath, trying to keep himself from growing anymore ecstatic. He probably should hear what they have to say. After all, Sherlock and John were glowering at him with dangerously dark eyes that longed to tear him to pieces. He didn't want to die just yet; especially when it was an ex-soldier and a sociopath with their hands at his throat. That would be just a tad not good.

"Ok, if you two weren't…you know what, then what the hell were you lying so close to each other on my balcony in the middle of the night for?!" Lestrade shouted, deciding to hear their side of the story (even though he was sure of what he had seen). Sherlock and John walked back to the spot they were lying and waved at Lestrade to come over. Once Lestrade was standing on the balcony Sherlock pointed a finger at the sky. "What the-" Sherlock shushed him before he could get another word in. Lestrade watched as bright lights flew through the sky like thousands of fast flying fireflies.

"What is that?" Lestrade asked; mesmerized by the luminous lights that lit up the darkened sky.

"It's a meteor shower. Sherlock had spotted them through the window so we went to go watch them outside. Not because we were…you know…" John said, chewing at his lip nervously. Lestrade frowned at them both, looking at them in the eyes.

"So…you're not a couple?"

"Obviously!" Sherlock grumbled, crossing his arms in annoyance. Lestrade let out a deep sigh and lied on the ground with his hands folded behind his head as a pillow.

"Alright then, I guess you two teenagers are off the hook for now," Lestrade teased, grinning evilly as he stared into the sky. Sherlock and John lied down on their backs next to Lestrade, watching the lights.

"I thought you said the solar system-"

"Doesn't mean I can't appreciate it," Sherlock stated, smiling at the sky. Lestrade sighed and watched the lights as they dashed through the endless darkness, disappearing behind buildings and trees.

* * *

Lestrade glanced at his two best friends every little while. They were smiling and laughing with each other as they pointed out the falling lights. Lestrade sighed silently shaking his head. He just didn't know what to believe from those two anymore.

* * *

**So what do you think? Were they really just staring at the stars or are they in denial? I'll let you guys be the judges of that. I had been asked to do a Johnlock but i am horrible with romance so i decided to take a different turn. I'll just let you all decide whats happening. ****Hope you all liked it!**


	14. Cigarettes

"I need a case!" Sherlock screamed as he paced the living room. His hair was sticking up on end from constantly running his hand through it. He wore his usual blue dressing gown, but it was wrinkled from pacing so much.

"You just solved a case, Sherlock!" John shouted at his friend.

"Take a day off," Lestrade stated.

"A DAY OFF?!" Sherlock bellowed completely enraged. Lestrade flinched as Sherlock stared daggers at him. "Lestrade, out of all people I had figured that at least you, with your tiny insignificant brain would be able to understand that when I say that I need a case I mean that I NEED A CASE NOW!" Sherlock screamed. Lestrade stood straight, not giving in to Sherlock's deadly screams. This wasn't the first time he or John have suffered Sherlock's wrath when without a case more than ten minutes so he knew well enough that giving in was just going to make everything worse. "Useless," Sherlock hissed through his teeth as his eyes scanned the flat. His eyes stopped on Billy the skull and in a blink of an eye Sherlock dived at the skull that sat on the fish tank. The tank crashed onto the floor, cracking slightly as Sherlock pounced on it. The detective frantically searched around the skull, grumbling to himself.

"Looking for these?" Lestrade asked, holding up a pack of cigarettes. Sherlock stared at the pack like a hungry shark and lunged at Lestrade, but he was too slow. Lestrade tossed John the pack before Sherlock could grab hold.

"A little old to be playing monkey in the middle aren't we?" Sherlock hissed. John was like a rock. He stared into Sherlock's eyes, never cowering to the dangerous looks Sherlock gave him.

"You need to cool it," John said smoothly to the crazed detective. The two stared at each other; a private conversation passing between the two. Lestrade felt uncomfortable as he watched the two. He should be used to these little private discussions by now, but sometimes it just feels like he's intruding. Sherlock's body slowly un-tensed, but he kept his eyes fixed on the cigarettes.

"We need to get him to calm down," Lestrade whispered to John. John nodded, watching as Sherlock went back to pacing the flat. John gestured for Lestrade to fallow him to the kitchen to discuss their plans for Sherlock tonight.

"Maybe you could get an old case from Scotland Yard for him to look at?" John suggested. Lestrade nodded, but then his face turned grim.

"Yeah, but last time we did that the Superintendent wasn't too pleased." Lestrade remembered the shouting the three of them got that night. Sherlock had been whining for a case all day and when they reopened a case file and found out it was all an accident instead of a murder they got ratted out by Anderson. The idiot should learn to mind his own business. They weren't tampering with evidence or anything; they were just looking over it again. What was the harm? They saved some poor soul from life imprisonment! John sighed, nodding in agreement and went back to thinking.

BANG!

The two flinched at the sound of gunshots.

"Um…Greg, how do you feel about smileys on your wall?" John asked. Lestrade paled.

"Oh no you don't, Sherlock!" Greg shouted, dashing out of the kitchen to find Sherlock shooting at a freshly painted smiley face. Lestrade's face reddened in rage and he snatched the gun from Sherlock's hands. The consulting detective sighed dramatically, slumping against the sofa.

"I was using that!" Sherlock snapped at Greg. Lestrade turned on him, anger radiating off his body like a bomb.

"TO DESTROY MY FLAT!" Lestrade screamed at him. "Not everyone has Mrs. Hudson as a landlady you know! I could get kicked out for this!" Sherlock waved at him in an uncaring gesture, making Lestrade even more annoyed than before. Lestrade let out a forced sigh, trying to calm himself. He looked at the wall. Sherlock was actually a pretty good shot. He had practically traced the smiley perfectly with the shots. Lestrade turned back to Sherlock, who was now staring at the cigarettes that John clenched tightly in his hands.

"John?"

"No."

"I'll-"

"Don't even try." Sherlock's shoulders slouched as he realized he was getting nowhere with his friend. Lestrade froze as Sherlock turned his head at him. This was not going to be good.

"Lestrade-"

"Leave him alone, Sherlock," John warned.

"Why should I?" Sherlock hissed, keeping his eyes locked on Lestrade. He looked like he was going to kill him.

"Because he's your only friend other than me and you're living under his roof," John stated, irritated.

"So?"

"Do you want to be living with your brother?" John warned. Sherlock stiffened, turning his gaze on John.

"I need a case," Sherlock muttered to himself. John rolled his eyes.

"How about I check the website for anything? If we can't find anything we'll run down and visit Mrs. Hudson." John offered. Sherlock was silent for a few seconds, glancing at John and Lestrade.

"Fine," he state, waving a hand at them before walking into the spare bedroom. Lestrade sighed deeply as he slunk into the couch.

"Um…thanks," Lestrade sighed, looking up at John, who was glaring in the direction Sherlock had disappeared.

"Well, it appears we have kept Sherlock in place for now?" John sighed, closing his weary eyes. Lestrade nodded, staring back at the smiley that decorated his wall.

"By the way, where did you hide those cigarettes?" Lestrade asked, noticing they were gone from John's hand. John slipped his hand into his pocket, but found nothing there. He checked the next pocket, but again there were no cigarettes. John rolled his eyes and ran out of the room.

"Sherlock!" Lestrade listened as shouting erupted from the spare bedroom. He rolled his eyes. Maybe he should go help. He slowly lifted himself from his seat on the couch and trudged over to the doorway. He tried to listen to the conversation inside, but his friends' words were muffled by the sound of crashing shelves. Lestrade hesitated by the door of the spare bedroom. He took a deep breath, gaining back his courage. Slowly, he lifted a hand to the doorway only to be greeted by the edge of a harpoon splintering out from the wood. Lestrade yelped, jumping out of its path. Maybe he should just let John handle this. Yeah, that sounds like a better idea.


	15. The War of the Siblings

"MYCROFT!" a loud whine came from the living room. Lestrade closed his eyes, praying that he had heard wrong. Maybe Sherlock was just having a nightmare or maybe the British Government had phoned his younger brother for some stupid reason.

"For once can you two just act like grownups?" Lestrade heard the highly proper voice and knew that his life was definitely meant to be a living hell today. Deciding that hiding wasn't going to save him, Lestrade walked into the living room to find that Mycroft wasn't the only sibling who had decided to visit them today. Harry Watson and Mycroft Holmes stood on one side of the room while Sherlock and John stood on the other. Their eyes were burning into each other and the atmosphere in the room felt like it was slowly closing in. Lestrade cleared his throat, hoping that it may get someone's attention, but it didn't. Lestrade was stuck staring at the endless war of glares between siblings.

"Why must you always patronize me?" Sherlock grumbled at his brother, who was wrinkling his nose at his younger brother.

"Me patronize you?" Mycroft spat in disbelief.

"John, how could you-"

"Stay out of this Harry," John spat at his sister as she retorted back, crossing his arms. His sister frowned at him and an eruption of shouting began. Brother fighting brother and brother fighting sister. Lestrade covered his ears. Boy they could shout!

"COOL IT!" Lestrade finally shouted after it all started becoming too much for his ears to handle. Everyone stared at him, looking at him like they hadn't even noticed that he had returned yet. Lestrade cleared his throat. "What is going on?!" Sherlock glared at Mycroft and Harry glared at John.

"Ladies first," Mycroft stated, nodding at Harry, who was standing proudly next him. Harry opened her mouth to speak when John cut her off.

"Oh, they were just saying how idiotic they are being," John hissed through his teeth.

"Why thank you _Miss_ Watson," Mycroft spat childishly.

"Shut up, Mycroft!" Sherlock growled at his brother, staring down at him with his sharp blue eyes. "Don't you have any terrorists to blow up today?" Sherlock turned his attention on Harry, who was glaring at him dangerously. "And, Miss Watson, shouldn't you be drooling on a bar stool right now?" Sherlock spat, glancing over Harry with a wicked grin like he had deduced her hole drinking habit to the very molecule. Harry turned bright red and gritted her teeth together.

"You keep out of my life, Hat Man," Harry stated. Sherlock's face flushed an angry red, causing even Mycroft to take a step back.

"John?"

"Yeah?"

"If you were to say find a certain relative laying outside the window with let's say a few broken bones, fractured skull, and a suspected punctured lung how would you feel about the situation?" Sherlock mumbled softly; anger bubbling around him. John shrugged casually.

"Honestly, I'd be relieved. How would you feel about a certain pain in the neck shot out of the government?" John stated, turning his gaze on Mycroft. The elder Holmes glared back with intense stares, but the ex-soldier never faltered. Sherlock clapped his hands together triumphantly and glanced around the room.

"Well, with that said let's take out the trash." Sherlock stepped closer to Harry, who was balling up her fists.

"Come and get me ya skinny imbecile!" Lestrade flinched. That was not a smart move. Lestrade could just feel the hatred radiate off of Sherlock's body.

"Take that back!" Sherlock screeched, jumping at Harry like an immature child and toppling her to the floor. Harry screamed and punched at Sherlock with all her might, but after fighting the strongest criminals in London her punches just seemed like soft pillows.

"Sherlock, you are the most childish, irresponsible, despicable-" John's fist interrupted Mycroft rant and soon Doctor Watson and _the_ Mycroft Holmes were rolling around on Lestrade's floor, cussing and swearing like teenagers. Lestrade jumped onto the couch to avoid the rampage on the floor and ran a hand through his greying hair. Great; not only does he have to babysit the blogger detectives, but now he has to try to keep them from killing their siblings. Lestrade watched the four of them and sighed heavily. Well, it's now or never.

* * *

It was a sticky battle to break the screaming siblings off of each other, but in the end Lestrade found himself standing between them to prevent any other fights.

"Alright, can someone please tell me what the hell is going on?!" Lestrade shouted at them. Well, it wasn't really a shout. His voice was hoarse from shouting so it came out more like a wheeze. Sherlock brushed his clothes off, keeping his eyes fixed on Harry and stated simply,

"Why is a raven like a writing desk?" Lestrade raised an eyebrow at the detective.

"What?"

"It's a simple answer of course. A raven and a writing desk can produce notes, and neither of them are put with the wrong end in the front," Sherlock pointed out.

"Wrong!" Harry shouted triumphantly, like she had been waiting all her life to shout it at the detective. "They both come with ink quills, Sherlock." Sherlock wrinkled his nose.

"Since when do birds run around with ink covered wings?"

"Not ink, dear brother, quills. Just admit defeat so we can carry on with our business," Mycroft corrected.

"I never admit defeat. Mycroft, you of all people should know that and if I am wrong then why did Carroll spell 'never'- _nevar_?" Everyone stared at Sherlock dumfounded except for John, who had heard the hole theory once before. Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Honestly, it must be so boring for you in your tiny minds. Have you never heard the whole story about Carroll's editor changing the word because he thought it was just a simple error?" Lestrade shook his head, coming back to the present.

"So this is just because of some stupid riddle that was never intended to have an answer?" Lestrade asked, still taken aback by the answer the four had given him. All four nodded in agreement.

"I was originally coming for a visit to see how John was doing and go out for supper when I ran into Mr. Holmes here," Harry informed Lestrade, smiling at the elder Holmes, who stood next to her. Mycroft smiled back at her and carried on with the story by saying,

"I informed her I was on my way to make sure Sherlock was not starving himself as usual. She then invited me and my dear little brother to come along with her and Doctor Watson to dinner."

"When they got here Sherlock and I were watching Tim Burton's Alice in Wonderland for the sake of that theater case we got two days ago and Sherlock had been about to comment on the hatters riddle when Harry gave her theory and Mycroft supported it," John informed the confused DI. Lestrade rubbed a hand over his eyes.

"You were going to kill each other over a stupid riddle from Alice in Wonderland?" Lestrade stated, still in bewilderment. All four rolled their eyes at him and nodded.

"Yes, now shall we all go to dinner now all that fighting has made me famished," Harry asked.

"I don't eat while I'm on a-"

"Sherlock," John hissed, glaring at his best friend. Sherlock glared back, but eventually let out a defeated sigh.

"Fine!" Sherlock held his hand out to Harry to lead her out the doorway when Mycroft shouted,

"I thought you never admit defeat?" Sherlock shrugged.

"You've never seen him when he goes all super doctor mode," Sherlock stated. "I'm lucky if I can get away with getting a minute of sleep less than what he makes me." John smirked at Sherlock and patted a hand on his back.

"Just looking out for you, mate," John stated, smiling warmly. Sherlock smiled back and Harry followed.

"Would you like to join us, Greg?" Lestrade stared at the four, who stood patiently by the doorway. Lestrade turned around, glancing at the demolished flat. To clean or to eat? The answer seemed obvious.

"TO ANGELO'S!"

* * *

**Siblings; they fight over the stupidest things. I wasn't sure what to write for this until I looked at my television, which was playing Alice in Wonderland (best movie ever) at the moment and the light bulb in my head flickered on. Anywho…I hope you all enjoy it!**


	16. Laundry

"Sherlock, can you hand me the detergent?" Lestrade asked, tossing a handful of clothes into the humming machine. Sherlock looked up at the DI from where he laid sprawled on some very ugly couches in the local Laundromat.

"I don't see why you just don't get your own washing machine, Lestrade, it would be so much simpler," Sherlock stated, tossing a bottle of detergent at Greg.

"Well, that has to do with something called money, Sherlock. Unlike you I do not have loving Mrs. Hudson to wash my things for me so I must deal with what I have." Sherlock sighed deeply, covering his eyes with his arm to block out the glaring rays of the florescent lights. "I don't see why you had to drag us down here, though."

"He didn't drag you down here. We volunteered. Since it's our laundry and since Greg was kind enough to take us in we should at least do our own laundry," John stated, carrying a basket of clothes over to the machine. Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"As if making breakfast wasn't bad enough," he grumbled.

"That, Sherlock, was your idea. Remember?" John stated, raising a brow at his friend. Sherlock waved a hand at him and jumped to his feet to Lestrade's side. He grabbed a pair of pants from the basket and chucked them into the machine.

"Hey, hold on, Sherlock," Lestrade stated, pulling the pants out of the machine. "You have to check to make sure there isn't anything in the pockets. Last thing ya need is finding a pocket of soggy cash. Sherlock rolled his eyes and stuck his hand into the pockets, looking for anything that may be hidden inside. Finally, he pulled out a small sheet of paper and turned it over to find a name and a number scribbled on it with blue ink.

"John?" Sherlock's flat mate stared at the paper and his eyes widened slightly. "Mary Morstan…isn't she the one from that case a while back?"

"Yeah, well, it's none of your business now is it?" John stated, grabbing for the paper. Sherlock pulled it away just in time and held the paper above John's head. John stared at him dangerously, giving him a look that always meant trouble. Even Lestrade decided to take a few steps back.

"Actually, it is I'm afraid. She was a client of mine and you're my flat mate," Sherlock stated, wiggling the paper in front of John's nose.

"So?"

"So, what if she's needed for a case?" Sherlock stated, holding the paper higher over his head as John went to grab it again. "Or one of my experiments," Sherlock teased. John's face turned dark.

"Don't you dare," John hissed through his teeth. Sherlock smirked at him, opening his mouth to reply when suddenly, the great detective was tackled to the ground. Lestrade stepped back as he watched the two roll around on the floor, kicking the laundry all around. Lestrade's pinched the bridge of his nose in irritation and glanced around the Laundromat, hoping that maybe there was no one around to see the childish blogger detectives. He was wrong, though. A little old woman stared at them from the other side of the room and turned off her hearing aid. There was also a mother with two screaming children, who was now staring at Lestrade in sympathy. Lestrade's eyes fell back on the two men who were now dashing around the Laundromat, destroying everything in their path. He rubbed at his eyes tiredly. Living with those two is a fulltime occupation. The DI turned to the machine, deciding that it may be best to just pretend that he didn't know them. He shut the lid of the machine, wincing as the sound of a washing machine falling to the tiled floor crackled throughout the room, along with the sound of an angry manager shouting at two well-known blogger detectives. Lestrade let out a dramatic sigh and grumbled softly to himself.

"This really isn't my division."

* * *

**Sorry for the wait everyone. I have all these different stories started but no endings for them. I just can't think of how to end them. My writers block is starting to dissolve though so hopefully I'll have some more up soon.**


	17. Danger Night

"Sherlock, are you positive?"

"Yes, of course, Lestrade!" Sherlock shouted at the DI as they dashed down corridors. Their hearts beat like drums as their bodies flew, looking for their prize.

"There!" John shouted, pointing at the last door. All three yanked out their weapons, ready to arrest, when everything went silent. A young woman in her early thirties lied on the floor in a pool of blood. Her throat was slashed to ribbons and a small white piece of paper lied on her chest. Sherlock walked over to the body, lifting the paper to his eyes with ungloved hands. Lestrade watched as Sherlock's entire body slumped and his face lost all color.

"Sherlock-" John didn't get the chance to finish, though. Sherlock was out the door in seconds, taking long strides.

"What was that all about?" Lestrade asked; staring at the doors that now swished closed. John lifted the paper, causing his face to go as pale as Sherlock's. Lestrade peered over John's shoulder, staring at the paper. His stomach knotted and his eyes lifted to where Sherlock had disappeared through the door.

"Is this a-"

"Danger night? Yeah, I think it is," John stated, before disappearing after Sherlock.

* * *

They had searched for Sherlock for several hours, but the detective was long gone. They had asked everyone around to keep their eyes open. John and Lestrade walked down the street, searching for their friend.

"I'm sure he's alright," Lestrade stated, trying to comfort poor John, who was shaking. John smiled at him, but it quickly faded. Lestrade sighed. He should have known that there was no way he could help calm down his friend. Sherlock was John's best friend and after seeing those two run around through London together Lestrade knew that they were never going to be easy to separate. Lestrade kicked at a rock angrily. This stupid case! It had been driving everyone up the wall for weeks now and even Sherlock was starting to look pretty pitiful. Lestrade had felt so bad for Sherlock. The man barely did anything else other than look through the endless case files. Sherlock had looked so excited when he came to a conclusion on who the murderer was, but sadly it didn't last long. Her body had been the one they found earlier and now they were back at the beginning.

"Lestrade," John whispered, stopping suddenly. Lestrade stopped with him and fallowed the ex-army doctor's eyes to a skinny figure leaning against the wall, shivering in the cold wind. Lestrade nodded and the two slowly came closer to where Sherlock was. His eyes were distant and his face was paler than usual.

"Sherlock?" Lestrade whispered gently. Sherlock didn't move. He looked almost frozen.

"Sherlock," John said gently, touching Sherlock's shoulder. Sherlock looked up at where John's hand was resting and moved to stare up into the face of his best friend. "Let's go home." John suggested, nudging Sherlock gently. It took the detective a while to process his friend's words, but eventually they had him walking along with them down the side walk.

* * *

Sherlock was dead silent the entire walk back to the flat. This worried Lestrade. He had never seen Sherlock so distraught. The man looked absolutely shattered.

"Want some tea?" Lestrade offered as Sherlock slunk onto the couch. Sherlock didn't answer. He merely just stared up at the ceiling. Lestrade looked over to John, who was staring at the spare bedroom.

"You go ahead and check. I'll keep an eye on him," Lestrade offered. John smiled at him thankfully and disappeared down the hall to the bedroom in search of any bad influences that Sherlock may turn to during this long horrible night. Lestrade sat down in his chair, staring at Sherlock carefully. He was amazed by how much emotion he could now see on his friend. He would have snapped a picture, but he knew how serious danger nights actually were. He had been through one or two once before and each time had been worse. Now he was going through it all again.

"Where's John?" Sherlock suddenly asked. Lestrade looked up at the detective.

"He's just making tea," Lestrade lied, knowing how much Sherlock hated it when they looked through his stuff. Sherlock nodded and turned over on his side with his back toward Lestrade. Lestrade paled. Sherlock hadn't even attempted to deduce where John was really. This had to be really bad. Lestrade knew he had to try to cheer up the depressed detective before this all went too far, but the question was what could he do? Lestrade paced the room, trying his best to gather ideas. He was just walking past the coffee table when his eyes stuck to the object resting on it. Lestrade's eyes brightened as the idea rolled through his mind. Quickly he disappeared into the guest bedroom to find John searching through Sherlock's dresser drawers.

"What's up?" John asked, looking horribly tired.

"I have a plan on how to cheer up Sherlock." John's face instantly brightened and the good doctor listened carefully to Lestrade's perfect plan.

* * *

"Sherlock?" Sherlock didn't react to his name, but Lestrade was sure he was listening. "Want to go for a walk?" Lestrade asked, walking over to the door and grabbing their coats. Sherlock looked over at the DI with a frown.

"No," Sherlock sighed, rolling back into the couch and closing his eyes. Grabbing Sherlock by the arm and pushing him out the door Lestrade shouted,

"You are not going to sit here and mope around all day. I think I know what will cheer you up anyway." With a shout at John to let him know they were leaving Lestrade slammed the door and dragged Sherlock down the street.

* * *

"Why are we here?" Sherlock asked, looking at the large theater. Lestrade rolled his eyes, passing two tickets over to the ticket manager.

"We are here to cool down and cheer up," Lestrade stated. Sherlock wrinkled his nose.

"But-"

"But nothing! Now come on, the show is about to start!" Lestrade shouted, shoving Sherlock through the spinning doors.

* * *

Once in their seats they watched as a woman in a beautiful black dress with a red ribbon around the waist.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, tonight we have something very special for you all tonight. First, though I would like to introduce our visitors DI Lestrade and Mr. Sherlock Holmes!" she called into the microphone. Sherlock's eyes widened as a light surrounded them and the entire crowd clapped madly.

"Lestrade-"

"Just wait," Lestrade hushed him, lifting a finger to his lips. His eyes went back to the announcer and with a nod she continued.

"Mr. Sherlock Holmes will be our entertainment for tonight so please give him a round of applause and, Mr. Holmes, could you please make your way up to the stage?" Sherlock paled as the entire theater began clapping and whistling for Sherlock to go up. The consulting detective glared at Lestrade and whispered silently,

"What are you playing at?"

"Nothing, I'm just trying to cheer you up and since it seems that music is something you enjoy other than insulting my team I decided to set up this," Lestrade stated with a cunning smile. Sherlock gritted his teeth and stared at the stage that eagerly waited for him.

"I don't have my violin, though," Sherlock stated. Lestrade laughed evilly and clapped a hand on Sherlock's back.

"Just go up on stage," he informed him. Sherlock wetted his lips, taking one last glance at Lestrade. The DI rolled his eyes again and stepped next to the detective, walking down to center stage alongside. Once they were there a figure appeared from behind a curtain.

"John?" Sherlock gasped, watching as his flat mate strolled out to him. John smiled at him giving a wink before handing a shimmering violin over to him.

"Lestrade talked to me before you two left and I got everything ready for your performance."

"Why?"

"Because we are your friends and we thought that maybe you could use some cheering up," John stated simply. A small smile stretched over Sherlock's face.

"Thank you, but there is something missing," Sherlock stated, a smirk slowly curling over his face. Both John and Lestrade frowned at him, dumfounded. What was Sherlock talking about? Sherlock laughed at their confused faces and then turned to the young announcer.

"Do you have a clarinet and a piano on hand?" The woman frowned at him, but nodded, calling out to some of the people from behind stage to bring out the instruments.

"Sherlock, what are you doing?" John asked, taking a clarinet from one of the stage hands.

"Well, let's just say performing on my own isn't as fun as playing with my two greatest friends. Anyway, you, John, played the clarinet at school and you, Lestrade, played the piano when younger so why not?" Sherlock stated with a grin. Lestrade and John looked at the grand instruments that they were now presented with. Lestrade glanced up at John and John glanced up at Sherlock.

"Well, let's get playing," John stated, wetting the reed of his clarinet. Lestrade cracked his fingers, taking in a deep breath and took a seat at the grand piano. Sherlock looked out at the silent crowd and lifted his violin, letting his bow gently brush the strings, sending a beautiful melody into the air that was soon followed by the smooth playing of John and a vibrant melody from Lestrade. Together they created the utterly perfect music, making everyone in the theater melt to the beauty. Sherlock glanced at the others as he played and whispered a soft thank you to his friends. John and Lestrade smiled, nodding at him happily. Mission accomplished.

* * *

**New Chapter! Yay! Sorry if it's a little sad. I've been having a bad week, but it gave me some inspiration on how to do this chapter. I have a little announcement to make as well.**** I'd like to say thank you to Danaerys14, who**** has been translating this story to French for me. You can find it on their page and I highly recommend it. Thanks for reading and ENJOY**!


	18. Drunk

"John, he's drunk again!" Sherlock shouted, looking up at the doorway from where Lestrade was hobbling. John stepped in from the kitchen and looked the stumbling DI up and down. Lestrade smiled at the two and stumbled over to the couch, falling on top of Sherlock in the attempt to sit. Sherlock groaned from the extra weight and wiggled away out from under the heavy inspector.

"Lovely," Sherlock groaned, dusting off his clothes as he stood back to his feet. John stepped over to his side and stared down at Lestrade, who was laughing heartily for no real reason.

"So what was it this time?" John asked him. Lestrade smiled at him and stated giggly in his drunken state,

"Dimdom's birthday p…p…party at da Yard." Sherlock raised a brow at the drunken DI.

"You mean Dimmock," Sherlock stated with a small smile etched on his face, clearly amused by the mix up. Lestrade nodded, almost falling of the couch with the wild bobbing of his head.

"Looks like we're in for a long night," John sighed, heading over to the doorway. "I better go get some aspirins for later since you decided to experiment with them." John glared daggers over in the direction of his best friend. Sherlock shrugged.

"You never know when one may try to murder someone with an overdose of aspirins," Sherlock informed him.

"Yes, of course," John stated with a long sigh. "I'll be back in a bit. Try not to get into any trouble." With that Sherlock and Lestrade were all alone. Sherlock stared at the DI, who was humming a stupid nursery rhyme that drove Sherlock crazy as a child.

"Wanna Dwink?" Lestrade asked, waking over to the cabinet and pulling out a bottle of whisky.

"No," Sherlock stated, grabbing a book from the endless pile on the floor. There was no way he would be able to last with Lestrade like this so a good book should distract him. Lestrade giggled and swayed around the room, giggling as he danced around.

"Come on Sher-lock," Lestrade said hiccupping.

"Busy," Sherlock stated, flipping the page.

"Comes on, mate, just a wittle sip!" Lestrade whined.

"No, I'm still on the-"Lestrade shoved the bottle in Sherlock's hands with a wide smile.

"Aw, come on, mate! Even ya need to unwind." Sherlock stared at the bottle and then back at Lestrade. With a sigh he uncapped it and poured them both a drink. What could possibly go wrong?

* * *

Sherlock and Lestrade lay on the floor, giggling like drunken fools. They had had one too many, but that didn't stop them from having another bottle and singing every single song the came to mind.

"Where John?" Sherlock slurred, ruffling his hair out of his face. Lestrade shrugged.

"Aw well, we don't need no sitter," Lestrade hiccupped. Sherlock nodded, staring up at the ceiling.

"Really?" John's voice hissed from the doorway. The two looked up at him smiling wide.

"Ello John!" the screeched, giggling in their drunken state. "Wanna sip?"

"No, I don't want a sip," John stated, yanking off his coat.

"Honestly, can't I leave you two alone for a second?" Sherlock pulled himself up to his feet, swaying as dizziness blurred his sight. John caught him before he could fall.

"Thanks," Sherlock slurred, blinking his eyes as they grew heavy. A smile curved over John's face.

"What do without you two idiots?" John sighed, dragging Sherlock to the couch that Lestrade was sitting on. John watched as Sherlock and Lestrade slumped together on the couch, slowly falling asleep. John looked at the two drunken detectives. What would he do without them?


	19. The Goblin Did It

We trudged along the crime scene in the middle of the night at the local theater. Posters and banners were all over the lobby and a large statue of a goblin stood by the register, looking almost life like. Popcorn smell was making Lestrade's stomach grumble and a handful of workers were standing a few feet back watching them work. Well, by them he actually means just Hatman and Robin. Sherlock was jumping all over the place, taking in his surroundings. It's impossible to understand how he can zip around so late at night. He doesn't eat or sleep; how can he not crash down after everything?

Lestrade let out a long sigh and stared at the body that lay on the lobby carpet. It was a young man in his early thirties. His wallet, by the looks of it fell from his hands. The wallet and the coins that had been in it were now scattered all over the floor. The victim's head had been bashed in by something, but the question is by what and by whom. John stretched out his arms as he looked around the banners above them, looking just as drowsy as Lestrade.

"Lestrade!" Sherlock shouted, attempting to gain Lestrade's attention. The DI shook his head attempting to clear the fog from his eyes.

"Hmm? Yeah, what is it, Sherlock?" Lestrade slurred, stifling a yawn. The Detective rolled his eyes and nodded at the victim.

"The Victim had been clearly waiting in line for a ticket for some strange fanciful movie, which explains his atrocious attire," Sherlock starts. Lestrade looks at the body once again to see that the man is wearing strange hairy feet and a colorful dressing gown. Sherlock was not exaggerating about this at all. The man looked like he had gotten in a fight with a Halloween costume.

"It looks like he was a LOTR fan," John sighed, kneeling down to the body. Sherlock scrunched up his nose, glowering at his flat mate.

"LOTR?" Sherlock asked; looking very (for the first time in a while) confused. John raised his brows at the detective.

"Seriously? It stands for Lord of the Rings, Sherlock! We started watching them yesterday!" John shouted, looking very irritated by his flat mate. Sherlock's frown stayed for a long while before he finally shrugged.

"Must have deleted it."

"Deleted it?!"

"Why would he be dressed up as a Lord of the Rings character, though? It's been forever since the last movie," Lestrade butted in, saving Sherlock from John's wrath. The army doctor must be a fan. That's the only explanation for the outburst. Again John rolled his eyes at them and pointed at a huge banner above their heads.

_The Hobbit: Showing Midnight_

Realization smacked Lestrade straight into the face. That's right there's a new movie showing tonight. How could he have forgotten that after walking past thousands of banners and watching every trailer on television? Sherlock cleared his throat, drawing back their attention.

"Anyway, he appears to have suffered from a blow to the head, but from the angle the wound is positioned I think we can say that this was no murder; just a simple accident." Both Lestrade and John frowned at him.

"Then what killed him?" John asked. Sherlock pointed at a statue right behind John.

"That Goblin statue," he stated simply. John turned around staring at the hideous statue. "See the spear in his hand?" John squinted at the weapon, noticing the blood on the edge of it.

"But how did it hit him?" Lestrade asked, looking closely at the statue's spear. Sherlock simply pulled out a coin and tossed it next to the statue. Lestrade frowned at the coin and went to pick it up when Sherlock shouted,

"Stop!" before he could lift himself up. Lestrade looked up slowly to see that his head was positioned just below the point of the spear.

"Yikes," Lestrade gasped, crawling away from the statue. "Are you saying that he just smacked his head against this thing?" Sherlock nodded, looking bored once again. This had been one of those quick little cases again. Where was the real fun when he needed it?

"Yes, it was simple really. The Hobbit was killed by the Goblin; end of story," Sherlock huffed, ruffling a hand through his hair.

"Simple or not I am eternally grateful for your help Mr. Holmes," the manager stated, walking into the room. "Take these tickets for the show tonight; my treat." The manager handed them each a ticket and turned away back to his workers. Lestrade and the others stared at the tickets, noticing that they were for the midnight show for the Hobbit tonight.

"Alright!" Lestrade and John shouted at once with excitement. Sherlock huffed at the card and made to walk away, but his two friends jumped in front of him before he could make it past the doors. Sherlock snorted at them, crossing his arms in frustration.

"Out of the way," he ordered them, waving a hand at them. Lestrade and John stared at Sherlock for a second and then at each other before shouting at him like two crazy fan boys,

"You may not pass."

* * *

**I couldn't help myself. I had to write something about the Hobbit since it's out now. For those of you who have not seen it you should! It has to be the number one movie ever created. I cannot wait for the Desolation of Smaug! That is going to be the greatest! Anywho…I hope you enjoyed this one!**


	20. April First 1

"Morning, Sherlock," Lestrade stated as the detective walked into his office. Sherlock had a bright smile on his face and was chuckling to himself evilly.

"Afternoon," Sherlock corrected while tossing a case file on his desk. Lestrade glanced at his watch, seeing that it was just after lunch. Boy this day was going fast! Lestrade opened the file on his desk, looking through it carefully.

"Really, the butler did it?" Lestrade asked, raising his brow at the detective. Sherlock shrugged, slumping into the chair opposite of Lestrade.

"All the facts point to him. He was the only one near Mr. Hassman's plate during the time and I found the powder of the poison on his sleeve. It was obvious really," Sherlock stated, still beaming brightly. Lestrade stared at him, starting to wonder what was going on. Sherlock never smiled after finishing a dull case. He either insulted everyone in the Yard or went storming off to shoot holes in the flat, but never once has he smiled.

"Alright, what have you done now?" Lestrade asked, frowning at the detective. The corners of Sherlock's lips twitched upright as he tried to keep from laughing.

"Well done, Inspector. Your observation skills have grown," Sherlock stated. "I think you may be able to figure that out by looking at your calendar however." Lestrade frowned at the smiling detective once again and glanced at the calendar hanging on the wall next to his computer. There he found the very date everyone who knows the detective dreaded. It was April first or shall we say April Fool's Day. Lestrade's eyes dashed back to the smiling detective and scanned the area.

"Where's John?" Lestrade asked. Sherlock opened his mouth when shouting could suddenly be heard from outside the office. Lestrade paled, glaring at the detective. "What. Did. You. Do?" Just then the door burst open and John emerged, completely covered in green sticky glop. Sherlock instantly broke into laughter when John entered, falling from his chair and to the floor. John glared at the detective, lifting him up by the coat caller.

"Sherlock," John hissed through his teeth. Sherlock shook his head, laughing at the state of his flat mate. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't kill you now!" Sherlock struggled in John's hold, but his laughing didn't stop.

"I…you…sorry…can't…stop…laughing!" Sherlock blubbered; his laughter making it impossible to understand him. John's eyes grew dark as Sherlock giggled and cried. "Should…have…seen…your face!" Sherlock cried; falling from John's grip and landing back on the floor.

"Um…sorry, but what happened," Lestrade asked hesitantly, nodding at the green slime covering John. John took in a deep breath and stated through his teeth,

"Sherlock here told me the shower head wasn't working this morning. I walked in, thinking that maybe the water was getting trapped. When I pulled off the head I got slimed," John hissed. Sherlock's laughter suddenly got louder, earning him another glare.

"Sir, you have to see what's on John's blog!" Donavan shouted, marching into the room, cackling. She didn't even notice John and Sherlock. She plopped her laptop on Lestrade's desk and clicked on the video labeled _April First_.

_Sherlock was fiddling with the shower head, laughing evilly as he did so in the video. He looked over his work; a smile curving over his face and shouted,_

"_John!" There was a loud groan from the other room and Sherlock covered his mouth, keeping back a laugh. "There's no water coming out of the shower head!" That's when John finally joined Sherlock in the bathroom. The good doctor stepped into the shower, glaring at the shower head._

"_See what happens when you use it to grow fungi?" John grumbled at the detective. Sherlock shrugged. _

"_You never know when someone may put a toxic fungus in a shower head in attempt to murder some innocent victim." John rolled his eyes and began twisting the head of the shower. Sherlock smiled at this and took a few steps toward the door. He had just swung the door open when green slime burst from the shower and covered John completely. John yelped in surprise by the sudden shock and stumbled in the shower. Sherlock bent over, holding his sides as he laughed at his flat mates expression. "April Fools!" Sherlock screeched, running from the room frantically. John's face turned bright red and he shouted loudly, causing the speakers of the camera to crackle,_

"_SHERLOCK!" _

"_I'm off to visit Lestrade about that murder case, bye!" Sherlock shouted, before slamming the door to their flat. _

John slammed his fist against the laptop, closing it instantly. Sally and Lestrade looked up into his burning eyes. It was petrifying, but they still couldn't stop themselves from laughing.

"I can't believe you put that on the blog!" John spat, looking at Sherlock, who was rocking on the floor. Sherlock tried to give John an apologetic smile, but it turned into more of a sneer. "I'll get you back, Sherlock," John shouted, pointing an accusing finger at the detective. Sherlock took in a handful of deep breaths and stood back up to his feet.

"Good luck with that, but by the looks of it you may have some willing helpers," Sherlock giggled before running out of the room. John and the others watched him disappear and turned back to each other.

"What do you think the Freak meant by that?" Donavan asked. Lestrade shrugged.

"It's probably nothing-"

"Sir, a package was sent in for you," Anderson grumbled, walking into the office. He stopped in his tracks, staring at John with wide eyes.

"April Fools prank," John stated, picking at the slime in his hair. Anderson just stared at him as he continued to walk over to the desk.

"Looks like it's anonymous," Anderson stated, shaking the box.

"Well, let's see it then," Sally stated, staring at the box in curiosity. Anderson plopped the box on the desk and Lestrade opened the folds. Lestrade shot up from his chair; his skin turning pale.

"RUN!" he shouted, but it was too late. Green slime erupted from the box and completely covered everyone and everything in the office.

"SHERLOCK!" they all screamed as they slipped in the muck. "This is war!"

* * *

**To Be Continued! Happy April Fool's Everyone! **


	21. April First 2

"Ah, what brings you four here?" Mycroft asked as Lestrade, John, Donavan, and Anderson walked into his very large office at the Diogenes Club. They had gotten most of the green slop off of themselves, but there were still bits and pieces in their hair.

"On account of your brother," Lestrade spat, still fuming that Sherlock had pranked all of them at once. Mycroft smirked at them each.

"Oh, yes, I take it all of you have been sucked in by one his little pranks too," he stated.

"Wait, you've been pranked too?" Anderson asked, staring at Mycroft in surprise. Mycroft rolled his eyes, clearly understanding why Sherlock hated the idiot so much.

"Yes, just this morning I was informed that five hundred pastry trucks were sent to my office, claiming that I had ordered every Boston Cream Pie In the city," Mycroft mumbled. John laughed at this, but quickly covered his mouth when the elder Holmes glared at him with his dark eyes.

"Sorry, Mycroft, umm…since you're his brother do you have any ideas for us so we can get him back?" John asked. Mycroft smirked.

"As much as I would like to humiliate my baby brother I'm afraid that I cannot assist you," Mycroft stated, turning his back on them. That's when Anthea came rushing into the room with a panicked expression on her face.

"Sir-"she stopped and stared at the four people crowded into the office.

"Yes, what is it, Anthea?" Mycroft sighed, turning his attention to her. Anthea took in a deep breath and stated in almost a whisper,

"Mr. Sherlock Holmes has sold your umbrella on eBay for a pricy penny." Mycroft's body instantly tensed and both she and John decided to take a few steps back.

"Where is my brother now?" Mycroft said in a calm but also stressed voice. Anthea swallowed nervously and whispered,

"Back at 221B Baker Street." Mycroft whirled around facing the four once again and asked in a dark voice,

"What prank did you have in mind?"

* * *

John and Lestrade dashed around outside the flat, making sure everything was in order before they set their plan into motion.

"Ready?" John whispered to Lestrade. The DI nodded and took in a few breaths. Once he was ready he raised a hand to his face and began crying. John felt a jolt of excitement rush up him. This was going to be perfect. They both ascended the steps until they finally were in the flat. Sherlock was sitting on the couch, staring at his laptop when they walked in.

"What am I going to do, John?" Lestrade sobbed into John's shoulder. John let out a shaky breath.

"I don't know, Lestrade, we'll think of something," John sighed sadly.

"What's wrong?" Sherlock asked, glancing at the two. Lestrade pulled away from John, whipping at his tear stained cheeks and shook his head saying,

"Don't worry about it, Sherlock." Sherlock then looked expectantly to John, who instantly gave way.

"The Yard is being shut down," John informed him. Sherlock's lips turned up into a smile.

"Really?" Sherlock asked, not falling for it at all. John nodded, clicking on the television. BBC was on instantly and a short haired reporter stated quickly,

"New Scotland Yard has been shut down due to lack of effort by its officers. It has been described that none of the officers are capable and constantly fumble up crime scenes by mistake. Cases will be restricted from all officers and detectives who worked at the yard." John quickly shut off the television as Lestrade broke down in tears again.

"No cases?" Sherlock asked. John looked up at him to see that he was now white as a sheet. Their plan was working.

"Well yeah, Sherlock, most of our cases are from Scotland Yard so what we get is going to be less than usual. Sherlock shook his head in disbelief.

"But wouldn't crime grow because of the lack of officers?"

"Oh there will still be officers, but not from the Yard. The officers at Pentonville Prison are taking over," Lestrade sniffled. Sherlock's face crinkled in discussed.

"But…they-"

"There's no arguing on it, Sherlock, it's been decided," Lestrade snapped. Sherlock turned another shade paler.

"No cases?" he gasped. They nodded sadly. Sherlock backed up, tripping over the coffee table behind him and falling to the floor.

"Sherlock!" John and Lestrade screamed as the detective's head smacked hard against the fish tank. They rushed to his side, holding the bleeding wound in the back of his head.

"Can you hear me, Sherlock?" John called, shaking his friend gently. There was no answer. The door swung open and in walked Donavan, Anderson, and Mycroft, looking rather irritated.

"What are you two doing? We've been waiting for the signal for-" Sally stopped and stared at Sherlock with her mouth agape. "Oh God, what happened?!" she yelped. Everyone stared at Sherlock's pale form, hearts beating rapidly.

"I'm calling an ambulance," Anderson stated, pulling out his phone.

"No need, Anderson," Sherlock sighed, sitting up and brushing the fake blood off his head. John and Lestrade jumped from his side, staring at them in shock. Sherlock smiled at them, winking casually and stated merrily,

"April Fools." Everyone in the room frowned at the detective.

"That was a dirty trick, Sherlock," John hissed. Sherlock pointed an accusing finger at his flat mate.

"So was yours!"

"At least we didn't pose like we just got killed!" John shouted. Sherlock simply shrugged and walked over to his violin.

"It was a nice attempt, but I'm afraid it will take far more to fool me," Sherlock stated, lifting the violin from its place, not even noticing the string attached to it. As soon as the string was pulled a bucket of green slime fell over top of Sherlock, drenching his curls and purple shirt in slime. "What the-"

Mycroft pulled out a camera that he had been hiding and smirked at him brother wickedly and the others had smiles growing to the point where their faces may burst. Sherlock let out a long sigh and flipped his curls out of his eyes.

"Well played." He growled. Everyone laughed heartily at him and shouted all at one,

"April Fools!"


	22. Bluebell the Second

Lestrade walked into his flat after a long day at the yard. He was tired and ready to just slump on the couch and watch old television shows. When he walked into the living room he knew that that was not what he would be doing today. As he walked in Lestrade found Sherlock staring underneath the couch, clicking at something that was hiding underneath.

"Sherlock, what are you-"

"Quiet, Lestrade, you'll scare her," Sherlock whispered, reaching his hand deeper under the couch.

"Umm…scare who?" Lestrade asked, dreading the answer he may receive. Sherlock shushed him again; ignoring the question Lestrade presented him with and flipped the couch over with lightning speed. Lestrade watched as the detective sprung at a soft little ball as it darted away. Sadly, Sherlock was not quick enough to catch the little ball. Instead he smacked face first into the floor. "Sherlock, what was that?!" Lestrade gasped as the strange creature darted underneath the fish tank. Sherlock sat on his knees, rubbing a hand over his sore face.

"A rabbit," Sherlock groaned. Lestrade stared at him and stammered slowly,

"A rabbit?" Sherlock rolled his eyes at the DI and picked himself off the floor.

"Remember that case about that Stapleton girl from the Baskerville Case?" Sherlock asked, stabbing at the fish tank with his sharp blue eyes. Lestrade thought for a moment, remembering running into John and Sherlock and being chased by a killer dog. He also read about a little girl, who lost her rabbit on John's blog.

"Yeah, what about her?" Lestrade asked.

"Her mother had finally gotten her a replacement for Bluebell, but when she was bringing the rabbit home during the night the rabbit started glowing. One of the vials that carried a special serum to make things glow tipped over onto the rabbit. She brought it over here, hoping that I could find some way of getting the stuff off of its fur but it keeps running away," Sherlock stated, walking over to the fish tank and staring at it like a cat ready to pounce.

"Sherlock, you do understand that I can't have pets right?" Lestrade asked. Sherlock waved a hand at him and turned his head to the side as a pink nose stuck out from under the fish tank.

"I am aware of that, Lestrade, but in order for you to have a pet free flat we need to catch her first so instead of standing there like an idiot why don't you help me?" Sherlock whispered as the little rabbit slowly began to stick her head out. Lestrade sighed heavily to himself and tiptoed to the opposite side of the tank, deciding Sherlock was right. Bluebell cautiously hopped from her hiding spot and looked around the flat, twitching her nose and ears. Not waiting one second more Lestrade and Sherlock lunged forward. _SMACK!_ Their head's smashed together and the both slunk to the floor in pain as the frightened rabbit ran away into the kitchen. Sherlock held his face in his hands, grumbling about something like "stupid rabbit" or "why couldn't it have been a new case." Lestrade rubbed the reddening spot on his head and glared at the cluttered kitchen.

"There is no way we are going to find her in that jungle," Lestrade hissed. Sherlock looked up at the kitchen and slowly crawled over to the doorway noiselessly and whispered silently to the inspector,

"Nothing is impossible."

"This is!" Lestrade shouted at the detective. Sherlock lifted his finger to his lip, shushing the DI before going back to crawling on the cluttered kitchen floor. Lestrade casually rolled his eyes at the detective, but fallowed him anyway into the dangerous jungle of chemicals and petri dishes. The kitchen had grown worse over the several days that John and Sherlock spent at Lestrade's. Sherlock was constantly conducting experiments in the kitchen and putting body parts in the fridge. Lestrade now understood why John and Sherlock ate out most of the time. Eating food in that kitchen was a huge hazard. Now they had to venture through it for some little girl's glowing rabbit. "Sherlock?" Lestrade whispered to the detective as he looked past a jar of fingers submerged in vinegar.

"Hmm?"

"I have an idea."

"That's a first," Sherlock chuckled, slowly opening a cupboard. Lestrade ignored the insult and pointed at the light switch above his friend. Sherlock glanced at it and a smile spread across his face. "Brilliant work, Inspector, there's hope for you yet!" Sherlock stated while flicking off the switch. The room instantly became pitch black, except for the glowing green light somewhere deep within the darkened kitchen space. They could barely see, but they crept toward it, inching closer and closer to the glowing rabbit. Sherlock and Lestrade readied themselves to jump the rabbit, flying strait for it when all of a sudden, the light clicked on. _SMACK!_ Once again the two struck heads again and the rabbit skittered away from them again.

"JOHN!" the two shouted at John, who was now standing in the doorway of the kitchen, clutching the grocery bags he had just brought in. The good doctor frowned at them, clearly not understanding what was wrong.

"Umm…sorry, I didn't realize you two were…what was it that you two were doing?" John asked, setting the grocery bags onto the one clear spot on the table. Sherlock rubbed at his head gently and glided to his feet before helping Lestrade to his feet.

"We were busy trying to catch Bluebell the second," Lestrade groaned, wondering if it was possible to get a lump on his head as big as the ones cartoon characters get. John raised his brow in confusion and turned to Sherlock for an explanation, which he did without delay or breath.

John tapped at his chin as he processed Sherlock's very detailed story.

"You two have been going at this all wrong," John stated simply, turning back to his groceries. Lestrade and Sherlock both shared a look of confusion and watched as John pulled out a bag of baby carrots.

"The number one way to catch a rabbit is silence, patience, and enough carrots fit for a king!" John announced, tossing them each a handful of carrots. He then began setting up a trail of them out the doors and into a small box. Lestrade and Sherlock stared at the carrots in disbelief, but eventually decided John's idea was worth a shot. They tossed their carrots into the box and sat on the couch, waiting eagerly for results.

* * *

"Lestrade," John whispered, gently shaking Lestrade's shoulder. The DI opened his eyes sleepily. He had fallen asleep after waiting so long for that silly rabbit to hop out of her hiding spot. He groggily looked around to see that Sherlock was sitting on the floor next to the box. Lying on the floor was a fluffy ball of fur covered in a strange liquid and partially eaten carrots.

"Looks like she ate a little too much," Sherlock stated, gently lifting the sleeping rabbit into his arms. The little bunny rolled into a ball and snuggled deeper into Sherlock's hands, searching for warmth.

"Nice job, John," Lestrade whispered, patting John on the back. The good doctor let out a soft laugh.

"I guess the case of the runaway rabbit is over now," John sighed as a new idea for his blog popped into his head.

"We're only partially done. We still have to clean off her fur," Sherlock corrected him. John nodded, but stated simply,

"Luckily I had picked up some soap on the way home so I believe we're all set," John whispered, patting Bluebell's head gently. Lestrade joined in on petting the soft little creature. Look's like the adventure of the runaway rabbit was just beginning.

* * *

**Sherlock and Lestrade catching a rabbit. I couldn't help but to write it. The idea was just begging to be written down. Thanks for reading!**


	23. Parenting

"DADDY!" John shouted, jumping on his father as he lay in his bed. Lestrade groaned tiredly, pulling the blanket over his head.

"What is it now, Johnny?" Lestrade grumbled. The little boy dressed in an inside out jumper lifted the blanket from his father's face.

"Sherlock is trying to blow up the kitchen again!" he tattled.

"Was not!" Sherlock shouted, rushing into the bedroom. The tips of his curls were burnt and his purple shirt had a hole burnt through it. "I was simply trying to see how quickly acid could burn through a table!"

"AND ME!" John cried, pointing at himself.

"Boy's calm down! It's only 3:00 in the morning," Lestrade sighed, snuggling deeper into his blanket. Both John and Sherlock stared at each other in confusion.

"Umm…Dad, it's 7:30," John said, shaking his father gently. Lestrade bolted upright, looking over at his alarm clock only to see a crumbled mess of broken gears.

"What-"

"HE DID IT!" the boys shouted at once, pointing accusing fingers at each other. Lestrade ran a hand through his hair and jumped out of his bed, grabbing the boys in his arms on his way. Great, he was late for work _again_.

Once they were in the living room Sherlock and John bolted from their father's grip and dashed around the room, chasing each other. Lestrade sighed deeply and looked around the room in search for the nanny.

"Mrs. Hudson?!" he called, walking into the kitchen only to find a kid friendly chemistry kit smoking on the kitchen table.

"She hurt her hip this morning so she said she couldn't come," John stated, hiding behind his father's leg as Sherlock tried to tag him. Lestrade paled instantly. What was he going to do now without a sitter? He had to go to work, but there was no way he could leave Sherlock and John on their own. There was only one thing he could do. He would have to take the two with him to work.

"Sir, this is Scotland Yard not a daycare!" Anderson shouted as John and Sherlock dashed past him, almost making him trip. Lestrade looked through another file, ignoring Anderson. "You can't just let little kids run around here!" Anderson shouted once again.

"We're not. We're helping Daddy," Sherlock said, jumping onto his father's lap and flipping through the file.

"KIDS CAN'T LOOK AT CASE FILES!" Anderson annoyingly shouted, making Lestrade want to tape his mouth shut just to get him to shut up.

"Oh, Anderson, calm down," Lestrade said, ruffling Sherlock's hair as the boy read through the blank papers, keeping his voice as cool as possible. Anderson frowned at the file, opening his mouth to ask, but Sally walked in and answered his question for him.

"It's just a coloring book, Anderson. They're using their imaginations," Sally said, holding John in her arms.

"But they still shouldn't be here!" Anderson shouted.

"Be quiet, Mr. Anderson, you lower the IQ of the whole street," Sherlock muttered, flipping another page of the fake case file.

"Sherlock…" Lestrade warned.

"What? It's true," Sherlock stated.

"Sherlock!" John called, jumping from Sally's arms. Sherlock looked up at his brother with a smile. "We have a new case!" John stated, acting like a police officer. Sherlock jumped from Lestrade's lap and dashed to John's side.

"Then let's get going!" Sherlock shouted as he and John bounded out of the office. Lestrade smoothed down his hair, letting a long sigh leave his mouth.

"I swear; those two are going to run me ragged." Sally chuckled into her hand and watched through the window as the boys looked over a stuffed animal lying on the floor like a body.

"Why do you put up with them, Lestrade?" Anderson asked, frowning at the boys as they poked at the stuffed animal. Lestrade instantly glared at Anderson with blazing eyes.

"They're my kids, Anderson!"

"Not really, though!" Anderson countered.

"Well, they are to me!" Lestrade shouted at him. Anderson went silent and continued staring out the window at the children as they played. Lestrade got up from his seat, not wanting to discuss anything more with Anderson. He was such an idiot sometimes…well, most of the time actually.

"What do we do now, Daddy?" John asked as their father walked up to their crime scene. Lestrade lifted John onto his knee as he kneeled down by the bunny and Sherlock, who was looking at the rabbit carefully.

"Now you try to use your clues to find out who put the bunny here," Lestrade told them. Sherlock smiled widely at the bunny and lifted up a small strand of hair sticking on the bunny's ear.

"There's a dark curly hair on the rabbit and by the sweet smell on its fur I'd say it was Sargent Donavan," Sherlock stated all at once. John clapped for his brother and Lestrade stared at his son in utter amazement.

"That's exactly right, Sherlock," Lestrade stated, smiling at the boy. Sherlock smiled back; his blue eyes sparkling and jumped onto Lestrade, hugging him and his brother tight. Lestrade held them back and smiled sweetly.

_Bang!_

The boys flinched at the sound of the explosion and looked over at one of the forensic labs, which was now sputtering a dark black cloud of smoke.

"Oops," Sherlock and John whispered in hushed voices. Lestrade paled. Parenting; does it get any easier?

* * *

"Lestrade!" John shouted, walking into the bedroom. Lestrade groaned tiredly, pulling the blanket over his head.

"What is it John?" Lestrade grumbled, still trying to wake up from the weird dream he just had. John kneeled down by the bed and pulled the blanket from the DI's face.

"How do you feel about getting a new table? Sherlock was…experimenting again-"

"I was simply trying to see how fast acid could go through a table," Sherlock interrupted, bounding into the room.

"And me apparently!" John shouted at the other man.

"I suppose parenting doesn't end in a dream for me," Lestrade grumbled as the two detectives shouted back and forth.

* * *

**So this was basically Lestrade having another dream about John and Sherlock…only instead of blowing up the kitchen and all that they were kids blowing up a lab. Same difference, though. I'd like to thank 'Sherlocked For Life' for giving me the idea. It was my first Kid!Lock and I have to admit that I enjoyed it. Maybe I'll do another one of these separately one day. What do you think? Thanks for reading!**


	24. Cluedo

BANG!

"Hand it over now, Sherlock!"

"Bored."

"Does it look like I care?! Give me the gun!" Lestrade screamed as Sherlock blasted holes through the fish tank, sending glass shards everywhere. John stood by his side looking just as furious. They had been greeted by the sound of bullets this morning, thanks to the pouring rain outside and the fact that criminals apparently take a day off on rainy days. That still didn't mean it was ok for Sherlock to blast holes in Lestrade's flat. With a shaky sigh Lestrade looked around the room in hope that something would pop out and serve as a good enough distraction for the consulting detective. His eyes, scanning the living room, stopped on a box pushed into the corner of the room. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "_Hmmm…that could work," _he thought to himself, picking it up and dusting off the several layers of dust. He carried it over to the coffee table and dumped it's continents out onto the chemical stained table. Sherlock's eyes instantly fell on the board game as Lestrade began to piece it together.

"What is that?" he spat, forcing another handful of bullets into the weapon. Lestrade smiled to himself. It was working. Simply shrugging his shoulders he stated swiftly,

"Oh just a board game." Sherlock wrinkled his nose as he searched his mind palace for the unknown term. Lestrade held back a laugh and raised an eyebrow at his friend, asking,

"It's a game you play for fun." Sherlock scoffed at this and fired another round of bullets into the fish tank. Lestrade ducked his head as the glass splattered at him. Taking in a few more breaths to calm himself. He shuffled the cards in his hands and glanced at John with pleading eyes. John frowned at first, not understanding, but caught on shortly. He sat cross-legged on the floor taking one of the game pieces.

"Sure, board games are always fun. Especially mystery games like Cluedo," John stated, glancing at Sherlock. Lestrade glanced at him too and watched as Sherlock's head perked up.

"Mystery game?" Sherlock mused, striding over. Excitement started to bubbled within Lestrade, but he kept his outside appearance calm.

"Oh, yeah, too bad you're too busy blowing up my fish tank," Lestrade hissed. Sherlock glanced at the gun in his hand and then at the shattered fish tank.

"Well, I don't see what harm there could be in playing on game," Sherlock sighed, sitting down and taking a game piece. Lestrade's smile widened and his eyes scanned the gun that was now sitting on the table. Saved by the board game.

* * *

"It's not in the rules-"

"Then the rules are wrong!" Sherlock shouted, throwing the game cards into the air in frustration. Lestrade pounded his head against the table. How did it come to this? All he had wanted to do was to distract Sherlock from a long day of sitting at home without a case as rain and wind pelted the building they sheltered in. Now he was stuck playing Cluedo with the world's greatest consulting detective and his blogger. He should have known it would turn out like this. Cluedo is a mystery game and Sherlock is the king of mysteries, but he was pretty sure that now the detective was cheating. Every time they picked up a card he informed them on how improbable a solution or clue it is and so on.

"Sherlock, this is a board game!" John shouted.

"It's a very tedious board game," Sherlock grumbled, tossing more of his cards into the air. "Who was stupid enough to create such a thing?" Lestrade covered his ears, fearing he'd go deaf by their constant bickering. Oh, his head! It ached so much! He should have just let Sherlock keep shooting holes in the tank. That would have been better than listening to him and John shout at each other over a game. They were only seconds from finishing too. All it would take is one last card and Sherlock would either win or lose.

"Just take your card!" John shouted finally, waving a hand at Sherlock. Sherlock mumbled something under his breath, earning a glare from John and took a card. His eyes scanned over the card and his teeth meshed together, rage filling his blue eyes. All of a sudden, in one swift move he grabbed the gun resting on the table and open fired on the board game. Lestrade and John lunged back in surprise, dodging the bullets as they flew.

"What the hell are you doing?!" John screamed over the sound of the gun.

"Proving a point," Sherlock sighed, slumping onto the couch. John got up on his feet, lunging at the detective, but Sherlock had moved to the opposite side of the couch, letting John slam into a pillow.

"What point?" John grumbled. Sherlock smiled at him, chuckling lightly, but before he could answer for him, Lestrade stepped in.

"Cluedo is no match for the world's greatest consulting detective!"

* * *

**I'll be posting the final chapter soon. I'd go on with these, but I achieved my goal of around twenty and I think it's time to complete this.**


	25. There's No Place Like Holmes

"Again, thank you Lestrade, We can't thank you enough," John said through the phone. Lestrade cleared his throat, trying to sound happy for the good doctor.

"You're welcome. It was no problem at all," Lestrade said into the phone. "Where's Sherlock?" There was a long pause on the other end of the phone before John finally returned.

"He went out. He's probably consulting with his network to see if they've heard of any new cases. He is bored out of his mind. He already repainted and shot the smiley in the living room!" John ranted through the phone. Lestrade felt a smile tug at his lips.

"Well, at least it'll feel like you've never left," Lestrade in hardly a whisper.

"Yeah, you won't believe how much we've missed this place." John sighed. "anyway, I'll see you soon probably! Bye and thanks again!" John shouted through the phone.

"John, wait-" It was too late. John had already hung up, leaving Lestrade sitting in the silence of his office. Lestrade glanced at his desk, pulling out a file of pictures. Most of them were from his birthday, but others were just of random days back at the flat with the two blogger detectives. Lestrade swallowed hard, glancing at his clock. His shift was over, but going home didn't feel right. Reluctantly, however he got up on his feet, taking the pictures with them and slowly shuffled from his office. His spirits were low and they were not going to get any better. He dreaded going to the empty flat he once called home. It used to be so vibrant and exciting to walk in there, but now that 221B was back in shape that was all over for him now. There would be no more crazy detectives blowing up his kitchen or scaring him with skulls and pranks. Sure he was going to get to see Sherlock and John again, but it wasn't the same. He thought over the past twenty days of living with his two closest friends. It had been an adventure he never would forget or want to forget. He had seen a Sherlock Holmes he and most others would never have imagined. He's seen him laugh and he's seen him at his breaking point. It had been the quickest twenty days of his life and the most fun. He continued shuffling down the street when a fire truck zipped past. Memories of that night he offered his house to them glided through his mind. He could just see the fires blackening the cozy flat of…wait a moment…wasn't that truck heading toward _his_ flat? Lestrade stared out into the distance to see dark clouds coiling through the air. The hot stench of burning flames tainted the air. Not wasting another moment he ran at the dark cloud, his heart pounding in his chest.

Lestrade was shocked to find that it was in fact _his_ flat that was completely engulfed in flames. People were screaming and crying as Firefighters ran past, trying to kill the army of red and orange that attacked his home. Lestrade covered his face with a hand, trying to keep the overpowering stench of burning wood from choking him. What had happened here? Lestrade's eyes brushed the area, watching as people crowded the around to see the burning building. He frowned at this. Didn't people have better things to do than watch people's homes burn down? Did they have to upload Twitter with everything? He watched as a news woman rushed up to the scene looking at the camera her coworker was holding and shouted in those usual fake worried reporter voices,

"I'm here at the scene live to give you all the details. So far it is unknown what has happened here tonight. According to sources no one was at home during the fires and no one was hurt…" Lestrade tuned her out, wondering what he was to do now. All of his things were in there. He's lost everything. Shaking his head he turned around, a flash of blue suddenly catching his eyes. Lestrade looked back into the crowed of strangers. There was one face in the crowd, who Lestrade knew perfectly well.

"Sherlock?" Lestrade called, rushing up to the detective. Sherlock turned to him; his blue eyes sparkling in the light of the fires, making them look like bright midnight stars.

"Hello, Lestrade," Sherlock stated, smiling at the detective. "Sorry about your flat." Lestrade frowned back at the fire that was reducing his home to rubble.

"What happened?" Lestrade asked, glancing back to the detective for a second. Boy it was good to see him. Sherlock looked up at the fire with him, shrugging casually and stating,

"Apparently some idiot dropped a spoon in a muffin batter and left it in the oven." Lestrade instantly stared daggers at the detective.

"Please tell me you didn't?" Lestrade mumbled. Sherlock smiled slightly, but shook his head.

"I have no idea what you are saying, Inspector," Sherlock chuckled. Red hot anger bubbled up inside Lestrade and he couldn't stop his fist from colliding with Sherlock's nose. Unlike John, Lestrade didn't care if he broke up the detective's face a bit.

"Sherlock, do you realize you just destroyed my home along with several other peoples?!" he screamed at the detective. Sherlock brushed the blood from his nose with his hand and stared at the detective; that crazy smile still on his face.

"Yes, well, don't worry about it," Sherlock stated. Lestrade stared at him dumfounded. Don't worry about it? He was homeless! Where was he going to live?! Sherlock watched Lestrade carefully, rolling his eyes at the DI.

"Seriously, Lestrade? Are you really that thick?" he asked. Lestrade frowned at him.

"What-" he stopped himself, realization finally hitting him. Sherlock's smile widened and he rested his hand against Lestrade's shoulder.

"Mycroft will take care of it and since you need somewhere to stay John and I will be glad to let you stay with us at new 221B since you took us in. Plus all your stuff is already packed into our tiny flat," Sherlock whispered. Lestrade smirked at the detective.

"Well played, Sherlock," he laughed. He glanced around the burning area. "You didn't really have to burn down a building to ask, but all in all I'm flattered. Shall we go home?" Sherlock glanced at the blazing fire and then glanced back in the direction of 221B.

"Yes, I think that's a brilliant idea."

* * *

**Thanks for reading everyone! I'd like to thank all of you who have read, followed, favorited, reviewed, and given ideas for stories. I couldn't have done it without you. I may go back into some past chapters and correct errors or just add to the ones that were missing something. I'm planning on putting up a new series similar to this only involving not just Lestrade, Sherlock, and John, but the entire crew or I'll just branching off of this one with Lestrade living at new 221B. I'm not sure yet. what do you all think?**

**I'd like to thank Danaerys14 and kruzyabra for translating 20 Days. Danaerys14 translated my story into French. You can find it under Danaery14's fanfic page. Kruzyabra translated it in Russian. It, however is not on . you can find it here- /readfic/792877. Thank you guys! I am forever greatful!**


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